God's tender care of his church.
by Isaac Watts
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," saith the Lord, "should nature change,
And mothers monsters prove,
Zion still dwells upon the heart
Of everlasting love.
"Deep on the palms of both my hands
I have engraved her name;
My hands shall raise her ruined walls,
And build her broken frame?"