3 But from our spirits there must flow A love that will the wrong outweigh; Our lips must only blessings know, And wrath and sin shall die away.
4 'Twas heaven that formed the holy plan To win the wanderer back by love; Thus let us save our brother, man, And imitate our God above.
1 O, say not, think not, heavenly notes To childish ears are vain,-- That the young mind at random floats, And cannot reach the strain.
2 Was not our Lord a little child, Taught by degrees to pray, By father dear and mother mild Instructed day by day?
3 And loved he not of heaven to talk With children in his sight, To meet them in his daily walk, And to his arms invite?
4 And though some tones be weak and low, What are all prayers beneath, But cries of babes, that cannot know Half the deep thought they breathe?
5 In his own words we Christ adore; But angels, as we speak, Higher above our meaning soar Than we o'er children weak.
6 And yet his words mean more than they, And yet he owns their praise; O, think not that he turns away From infants' simple lays!
1 By cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows! How sweet the breath, beneath the hill, Of Sharon's dewy rose!
2 Lo, such the child whose early feet The paths of peace have trod; Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, Is upward drawn to God!
3 O Thou who giv'st us life and breath, We seek Thy grace alone, In childhood, manhood, age, and death, To keep us still Thine own!
1 See Israel's gentle Shepherd stand With all-engaging charms! Hark, how he calls the tender lambs, And folds them in his arms!
2 "Suffer the little ones," he says, "Forbid them not to come; Of such is heaven; and souls like these Shall find in heaven their home."
3 We bring them, Lord, with thankful hands, And yield them up to Thee; Joyful that we ourselves are Thine, Thine let our offspring be!
Remember Thy Creator in the Days of Thy Youth.
1 Ye joyous ones! upon whose brow The light of youth is shed, O'er whose glad path life's early flowers In glowing beauty spread; Forget not Him whose love hath poured Around that golden light, And tinged those opening buds of hope With hues so softly bright.
2 Thou tempted one! just entering Upon enchanted ground, Ten thousand snares are spread for thee, Ten thousand foes surround: A dark and a deceitful band, Upon thy path they lower; Trust not thine own unaided strength To save thee from their power.