Classic Poem

In weakness at Thy feet I lie,
Thine eye each pang hath seen;
Scarce can I lift my heart on high,
Yet, Lord, on Thee I lean :

Lean on Thy sure, unfailing word,
Thy gentle " It is I; "
For Thou, my ever-living Lord,
Know'st what it is to die.

Thou wilt be with me when I go, —
Thy life my life in death;
For, in the lowest depths, I know
Thine arms are underneath.

'Tis not the infant's feeble grasp
Which holds the mother fast;
It is the mother's gentle clasp
Around her darling cast.

Just so Thy child would cling to Thee,
Knowing Thy pity long;
For feeble as my faith may be,
The hand I clasp is strong.