Bestow, Dear Lord, upon Our Youth

Bestow

dear Lord

up­on our youth

The gift of sav­ing grace;

And let the seed of sacr­ed truth

Fall in a fruit­ful place.

Grace is a plant

wher­e’er it grows

Of pure and heav’n­ly root;

But fair­est in the young­est shows

And yields the sweet­est fruit.

Ye care­less ones

O hear be­times

The voice of sov­er­eign love!

Your youth is stained with ma­ny crimes

But mer­cy reigns ab­ove.

True

you are young

but there’s a stone

Within the young­est breast

Or half the crimes which you have done

Would rob you of your rest.

For you the pub­lic pray­er is made

Oh! join the pub­lic pray­er!

For you the sec­ret tear is shed

O shed your­selves a tear!

We pray that you may ear­ly prove

The Spir­it’s pow­er to teach;

You can­not be too young to love

That Je­sus

whom we preach.