Do I in thy garden grow,
Yet produce thee only leaves ?
Lord, forbid it should be so !
The thought my spirit grieves.
5 Heavy charges Satan brings
To fill me with distress ;
Let me hide beneath thy wings,
And plead thy righteousness :
Lord, to thee for help I call ;
Tis thy promise bids me come ;
Tell him thou hast paid for all,
And that shall strike him dumb.
57.
For the Poor. C.
1 WHEN Hagar found the bottle spent,
And wept o er Ishmael,
A message from the Lord was sent
To guide her to a well.
2 Should not Elijah s cake and cruse
Convince us at this day,
A gracious God will not refuse
Provisions by the way ?
3 His saints and servants shall be fed,
The promise is secure :
" Bread shall be given them," as he said,
" Their water shall be sure."
4 Repasts far richer they shall prove,
Than all earth s dainties are ;
Tis sweet to taste a Saviour s love,
Though in the meanest fare.
5 To Jesus then your trouble bring,
Nor murmur at your lot ;
While you are poor, and he is King,
You shall not be forgot.
