THE CHILD OF THE LORD

JOSEPH JOHN GURNEY

How bless'd is the child of the Lord,
When taught of the Father to run,
When led by the light of his word,
And cheer'd by the beams of his sun.

He listens with fear and delight,
To hear what the master shall say;
He sleeps on his bosom all night,
And walks in his love all the day.

Though terrors may compass him round,
And wildly the tempest may blow;
He fears not; the rock he has found,
That rock he will never forego.

'T is true that his pilgrimage here
Is chequer'd with sorrows and fears;
'T is true that the cross he must bear,
And weep in this valley of tears:

But patience, submission, and love,
Can sweeten the bitterest hours;
And hope, from the heaven above,
Still shines, when the hurricane lowers.

Temptation, 't is true, will assail,
And trial without and within;
And deeply his soul must bewail
For inward corruption and sin.


But the rags he once counted his own,
Are consumed in celestial flame,
And a mantle is over him thrown,
Wash'd white in the blood of the Lamb.