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C. P. M.
Thou art my trust from my youth.
Psalm 71:5.
Thy mercy heard my infant prayer,
Thy love, with all a mother’s care,
Sustained my childish days;
Thy goodness watched my ripening youth,
And formed my heart to love thy truth,
And filled my lips with praise.
2 Then e’en in age and grief, thy name
Shall still my languid heart inflame,
And bow my faltering knee:
O! yet this bosom feels the fire,
This trembling hand and drooping lyre
Have yet a strain for thee!
3 Yes! broken, tuneless, still, O Lord,
This voice transported shall record
Thy goodness, tried so long;
Till, sinking slow, with calm decay,
Its feeble murmurs melt away
Into a seraph’s song.
Sir Robt. Grant.