Psalm 39:3. 9-13. Third Part
Sick-bed devotion; or, Pleading without repining.
God of my life, look gently down,
Behold the pains I feel;
But I am dumb before thy throne,
Nor dare dispute thy will.
Diseases are thy servants, Lord,
They come at thy command;
I’ll not attempt a murmuring word
Against thy chastening hand.
Yet I may plead with humble cries,
Remove thy sharp rebukes;
My strength consumes, my spirit dies
Thro’ thy repeated strokes.
Crush’d as a moth beneath thy hand,
We moulder to the dust;
Our feeble powers can ne’er withstand,
And all our beauty’s lost.
[This mortal life decays apace,
How soon the bubble’s broke!
Adam and all his numerous race
Are vanity and smoke.]
I’m but a sojourner below,
As all my fathers were,
May I be well prepar’d to go
When I the summons hear.
But if my life be spar’d awhile,
Before my last remove,
Thy praise shall be my business still,
And I’ll declare thy love.