Classic Poem

Indulgent still to my request,
How free thy tender mercies are!
With full consent my thoughts attest,
My gracious God, thy faithful care.

The hand that holds the rod I see;
That gentle hand I must adore;
That goodness, how divinely free,
Which my expectant hopes implore?

Thy hand sustains me lest I faint,
Or at the needful stroke repine;
Thy ear attends to my complaint;
The tenderest pity, Lord, is thine.

And can my heart desire in vain,
When he who chastens bids me sue,
That every sorrow, every pain
Be blest to teach, reclaim, renew?

O yet support thy feeble child,
Till thy correcting hand remove!
Be all thy purposes fulfill'd,
And bid me sing thy sparing love.