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 LIX. 
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LXVII.

[O that my son might live]

O that my son might live
A monument of Thy grace,
To Thee his earliest childhood give,
To Thee his riper days!
My heavenly Father, hear
In me Thy Spirit's cry,
And grant the child his God to fear,
Or give him now to die.
Ah, do not let him stay
To grieve Thy glorious eyes,
To wander down the beaten way
Of passion, pride, and vice;
To know the misery
Which I, alas, have known,
Or saved by fire, if saved like me,
Or finally undone.

79

Rather in tender grace
Resume my infant's breath,
And snatch him from the dangerous maze,
The brink of second death;
To glorious worlds on high
His spotless soul receive,
Where all who in their childhood die
With God for ever live.