SUPPLICATION.
I cried to Thee, O Lord; and unto the Lord I made supplication.—Psalm xxx. 8.
Let my supplication come before Thee: deliver me according to Thy word.—Psalm cxix. 170.
O my God incline Thine ear, and hear: for we do not present our supplications before Thee for our righteousnesses, but for Thy great mercies.—Daniel, ix. 18.
Oh, when Thy last frown shall proclaim
The flocks of goats to folds of flame;
And all Thy lost sheep found shall be,
Let “Come, ye blessed” then call me.
Oh, hear a suppliant heart all crush’d
And crumbled into contrite dust;
My Hope, my Fear, my Judge, my Friend,
Take charge of me, and of my end.
Crashaw.
Like the low murmur of the secret stream,
Which through dark alders winds its shaded way,
My suppliant voice is heard. Ah, do not deem
That on vain toys I throw my hours away.
In the recesses of the forest vale,
On the wild mountains, on the verdant sod,
When the fresh breezes of the morn prevail,
I wander lone, communing with my God.
Beckford.
From lowest depths of woe
To God I send my cry;
Lord bear my supplicating voice,
And graciously reply!
My soul with patience waits
For Thee, the living Lord;
My hopes are on Thy promise built,
Thy never-failing word!
Let Israel trust in God;
No bounds His mercy knows;
The plenteous source and spring from whence
Eternal succour flows.
Brady and Tate.