I praise the God, who, while I kept <br />My watch beside the grave, <br />Where, cold and dead, my father slept, <br />Where, drowned in grief, my mother wept, <br />An orphan stooped to save. <br /> <br /> <br />He stooped to save when hope had fled; <br />For soon my mother's moan <br />Was heard no more;-when she had shed <br />Her last tear o'er my father's bed, <br />She rested in her own. <br /> <br /> <br />When round my couch the visions pressed, <br />Of want, and guilt, and shame, <br />Then, like the spirits of the blest, <br />Sent forth to guide me to my rest, <br />The orphan's guardians came. <br /> <br /> <br />I thank thee, Lord, for hope's sweet ray, <br />To life's dark morning given; <br />Let it shine on through all my day; <br />Let virtues bloom along my way, <br />And let their fruits be heaven.<br /><br />John Pierpont<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hymns-and-odes-for-charity-occasions-i/
