166
MOTHER'S LITANY.
Round his lip is quivering strife,
In his hand unquiet life;
Aid, oh! aid.
Saviour! loose the burning chain
From his fevered heart and brain,
Give, oh! give his young soul back,
Into its own cloudless track!
Hear and aid!
Thou that said'st, "awake, arise!"
E'en when death had quenched the eyes,
In this hour of grief's deep sighing,
When o'erwearied hope is dying!
Hear and aid!
Yet, oh! make him thine, all thine,
Saviour! whether Death's or mine!
Yet, oh! pour on human love,
Strength, trust, patience, from above!
Hear and aid!
