God’s Tender Care of his Church. Isa. 49. 15, 16
I. Watts C.M.
Now shall my inward joys arise,
And burst into a song;
Almighty love inspires my heart,
And pleasure tunes my tongue.
God on his thirsty Zion-hill
Some mercy-drops has thrown,
And solemn oaths have bound his love
To shower salvation down.
Why do we, then, indulge our fears,
Suspicions, and complaints?
Is he a God, and shall his grace
Grow weary of his saints?
Can a kind woman e’er forget
The infant of her womb?
And ’mongst a thousand tender thoughts,
Her suckling have no room?
Yet, says the Lord, should nature change,
And mothers monsters prove,
Zion still dwells upon the heart
Of everlasting love.