Then the angel flew where a mother prayed For a son on a course of evil bent; She wept—half trustful and half afraid, Beseeching Him who alone could aid; And to her was the message of comfort sent— “Thy God beholds, and will not forget; Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!” With cares depressed, and with trials worn, A persecuted believer knelt; With drooping heart she had meekly borne The unkind taunt and the look of scorn, Till the angel’s smile was like sunshine felt. “Thy God beholds, and will not forget; Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!” Then the seraph hovered where death had been, In its little coffin an infant lay; The parents wept, but a calm serene Stole over their souls, as a hand unseen Gently wiped the trickling tears away. “Your God beholds, and will not forget; Your bud shall blossom in glory yet!” Happy such to whom griefs come not in vain, Though afflictions bow, or the world contemn, Thrice blest in sorrow, thrice blest in pain, Reproach is honour, and loss is gain, For the angel of peace shall visit them— Their God beholds, and will not forget; Their rod shall blossom in glory yet! VI. HYMN FOR THE PENITENT CONVICT. I dare not raise my guilty eye The gaze of man to meet, A helpless sentenced wretch I lie, Lord Jesus! at Thy feet. Too justly scorned by all beside, I trembling come to Thee; If Thou for _chief of sinners_ died, Is there not hope for me? The dying thief in torments hung While sinners scoffed around; With feeble breath and faltering tongue He mercy sought—and found. There flowed before his eyesight dim The blood which made him free; If Jesus heard and pitied him Is there not hope for me? The weeping prodigal returned His father’s house to seek; His supplication was not spurned— Love still could welcome speak. Like him, in grief and penitence, To mercy’s door I flee, O Father, wilt thou spurn me thence; Is there not hope for me? Yes, there is hope! while He, once crowned With thorns, now pleads in heaven, Rejoices o’er the lost one found, The wanderer forgiven; To those who mourn and turn from sin He offers mercy free; I feel another life begin— There yet is hope for me! VII. HYMN FOR THE BLIND. I cannot see the sunny gleam Which gladdens every eye but mine, But I can feel the warming beam, And bless the God who made it shine. O Lord, each murmuring thought control, Let no repining tear-drop fall, Pour holy light upon my soul, That I may own Thy love in all!