I praise the God, who, while I kept
My watch beside the grave,
Where, cold and dead, my father slept,
Where, drowned in grief, my mother wept,
An orphan stooped to save.
He stooped to save when hope had fled;
For soon my mother's moan
Was heard no more;-when she had shed
Her last tear o'er my father's bed,
She rested in her own.
When round my couch the visions pressed,
Of want, and guilt, and shame,
Then, like the spirits of the blest,
Sent forth to guide me to my rest,
The orphan's guardians came.
I thank thee, Lord, for hope's sweet ray,
To life's dark morning given;
Let it shine on through all my day;
Let virtues bloom along my way,
And let their fruits be heaven.