1. The pity of the Lord,
To those who fear His name
Is such as tender as parents feel; He knows our feeble frame.
2. He knows we are but dust,
Scatter’d by every breath;
His anger like a rising wind,
Can send our souls to death.
3. Our days are as the grass,
or like the morning flower;
When blasting winds sweep o’er the plain,
They wither in a hour.
4 But thy compassions, Lord,
To endless years endure;
And children’s children ever find
Thy words of promise sure.
Watts in 1835 “The Mother’s Hymn Book” compiled From various Authors and Private Manuscripes:
New Your; Published by John P. Haven; 148 Nassau Street.
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