Friday, February 24, 2012 at 8:29PM
- The new-born child of gospel grace,
- Like some fair tree when summer’s nigh,
- Beneath Emmanuel’s shining face
- Lifts up his blooming branch on high.
- No fears he feels, he sees no foes,
- No conflict yet his faith employs,
- Nor has he learnt to whom he owes
- The strength and peace his soul enjoys.
- But sin soon darts its cruel sting,
- And comforts sinking day by day,
- What seem’d his own, a self-fed spring,
- Proves but a brook that glides away.
- When Gideon arm’d his numerous host,
- The Lord soon made his numbers less;
- And said, “Lest Israel vainly boast,
- My arm procured me this success!”
- Thus will He bring our spirits down,
- And draw our ebbing comforts low,
- That saved by grace, but not our own,
- We may not claim the praise we owe.