Father, I Bless Thy Gentle Hand

Father

I bless Thy gen­tle hand;

How kind was Thy chas­tis­ing rod

That forced my con­science to a stand

And brought my wan­der­ing soul to God!

Foolish and vain

I went as­tray

Ere I had felt Thy scourg­es

Lord;

I left my guide

and lost my way;

But now I love and keep Thy Word.

’Tis good for me to wear the yoke

For pride is apt to rise and swell;

’Tis good to bear my Fa­ther’s stroke

That I might learn His sta­tutes well.

The law that is­sues from Thy mouth

Shall raise my cheer­ful pas­sions more

Than all the trea­sures of the south

Or west­ern hills of gold­en ore.

Thy hands have made my mor­tal frame

Thy Spir­it formed my soul with­in;

Teach me to know Thy won­drous name

And guard me safe from death and sin.

Then all that love and fear the Lord

At my sal­va­tion shall re­joice;

For I have hop­èd in Thy Word

And made Thy grace my on­ly choice.