Glory to that victorious grace,
Thro’ which a worm can all things do!
I stand o’erwhelmed with vast amaze,
And scarce believe the wonder true;
’Tis more than heart could e’er conceive,
I know my child is dead—and live!
Where is the passionate regret,
The fond complaint, and lingering smart?
Can I my sucking child forget,
So freely with my Isaac part,
So cheerfully my all resign,
And triumph in the will divine?
Son of my womb, my joy, my hope,
He lived, my yearning heart’s desire,
Yet lo! I gladly give him up,
No longer mine, if God require,
And with a sudden stroke remove,
Whom only less than God I love.
Nature would cry,
My son, my son!
O that I now had died for thee!
But faith replies,
His will be done,
Who lent the blessing first to me;
Lent, and resumes, it is the Lord!
His will be done, His name adored!
With all my soul, O Lord, I give
The child Thy love hath snatched away;
On earth I would not have him live,
With me I would not have him stay;
The sacrifice long since was o’er,
I stand to what I gave before.
I all have left for Jesu’s sake,
And shall I grieve to part with one!
No, if a wish could call him back,
I would not have my darling son
Brought from his everlasting rest,
Snatched from his heav’nly Father’s breast.
Pass a few fleeting days, or years,
And I shall see my child again;
When Jesus in the clouds appears,
With Him I shall in glory reign,
I and the children He hath giv’n,
Inseparably joined in Heav’n.