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v.5-9
C. M.
The aged saint's reflection and hope.
My God, my everlasting hope,
I live upon thy truth;
Thine hands have held my childhood up,
And strengthened all my youth.
My flesh was fashioned by thy power,
With all these limbs of mine;
And from my mother's painful hour,
I've been entirely thine.
Still has my life new wonders seen
Repeated every year;
Behold, my days that yet remain,
I trust them to thy care.
Cast me not off when strength declines,
When hoary hairs arise;
And round me let thy glory shine,
Whene'er thy servant dies.
Then in the hist'ry of my age,
When men review my days,
They'll read thy love in every page,
In every line thy praise.
Isaac Watts
Read poems about / on: childhood, trust, strength, hope, power, truth, mother, god
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Isaac Watts
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