Classic Poem

OBLIGED BY ILL HEALTH TO LAY DOWN HIS OFFICE .

How pleasant roll'd the days!
When, hanging o'er my head,
Thy lamp, O Lord, its vivid rays
Around my footsteps spread:

When all my vigorous pow'rs
Sent all their strength abroad;
And fill'd up all my active hours
With service of my God:

When crowds about me hung,
Impatient for the theme
Divine, sweet-flowing from my tongue,
And drank salvation's stream.

Now darkness casts her veil
All o'er my troubled sky.
Thy hand afflicting I bewail;
Thy healing hand apply.

Shall a slack'd thread of clay
Untune the reas'ning mind?
Shall memory mourn her stores, a prey
To malady resign'd?

God of my frame, I bow
My reason to thy will:
And only breathe this humble vow,
May I thy work fulfill.