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LXXI. FOR A SICK CHILD.

Father, God of pitying love,
Let Thy yearning bowels move,
Let Thine ear attend our cry,
Help before our infant die.

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Hear her help-imploring groan,
Pain'd with sorrows not her own,
Bruised, alas, for our offence
Save her suffering innocence!
Whom but now Thy mercy gave,
Keep her from the gaping grave;
Whom Thy love persists to give,
Let her for Thy glory live.
But if Thou foreknow'st it best
Not to grant our blind request,
Snatch her from a length of pain,
Take her to Thine arms again.
Now her spotless soul remove
To the innocents above,
To her kindred in the skies,
To an early paradise.
Only while she hence departs,
Let her carry up our hearts,
Rend them, as she rends her clay,
Tear them far from earth away.
Far above the world of pain
Let our souls with hers remain,
Far above its comforts soar,
Stoop to earthly bliss no more.