THE PATIENCE OF MY LORD.
By Max Hill
THE patience of my Lord has brought me low;
Before His throne my sinful self I throw
With penitence of heart to own His grace
Which promises to me a resting-place
Where His own saints eternally shall stand.
Unworthy tho I be, and long deferred
My coming home, I have His own true Word,
"Confess thy sins, in simple faith believe,
And thou a full salvation wilt receive,
And stand at last redeemed with Zion's band." More faithful still than mother-love can be
His tender care is ever over me;
In danger, sickness, famine, pestilence,
My Rock and Shield, my safe and sure Defense
From every shaft the enemy can bring.
O make me grateful, Lord; Thy mercy still
Be ever with me; I would do Thy will.
I own Thy love, and on Thy pleasure wait;
In truth Thy gentleness hath made me great;
Teach Thou my lips a song of praise to sing.
Max Hill.