I.
“My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint
when thou art rebuked of Him.”—Hebrews xii. 5.
O Thou! whose tender feet have trod
The thorny path of woe,
Forbid that I should slight the rod,
Or faint beneath the blow.
My spirit to its chastening stroke
I meekly would resign,
Nor murmur at the heaviest yoke
That tells me I am Thine.
Give me the spirit of Thy trust,
To suffer as a son,—
To say, though lying in the dust,
My Father's will be done!
I know that trial works for ends
Too high for sense to trace,
That oft in dark attire, he sends
Some embassy of grace.
May none depart till I have gained
The blessing which it bears,
And learn, though late, I entertained
An angel unawares.
So shall I bless the hour that sent
The mercy of the rod,
And build an altar by the tent
Where I have met with God.
