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the child at prayer.
Will come again, with thrilling power,
To still his pulses wild,
And lure him back in that dark hour,
Once more in heart, a child.
To still his pulses wild,
And lure him back in that dark hour,
Once more in heart, a child.
'Tis o'er—the last "good night," is said—
The last fond kiss is given—
But rises not that childish prayer
To Him who dwells in heaven?
Will not His ear give heed as soon
Unto an infant's cry,
As when a seraph bow, the knee
Before His throne on high?
The last fond kiss is given—
But rises not that childish prayer
To Him who dwells in heaven?
Will not His ear give heed as soon
Unto an infant's cry,
As when a seraph bow, the knee
Before His throne on high?
Yes, He who marks the sparrow's fall—
Who feeds the raven's young—
Will listen to the simple words
Lisped by an infant tongue;
And thou, blest mother, teach thy child
Early to kneel and pray,
'Twill prove a beacon of the past,
To light his future way.
Who feeds the raven's young—
Will listen to the simple words
Lisped by an infant tongue;
And thou, blest mother, teach thy child
Early to kneel and pray,
'Twill prove a beacon of the past,
To light his future way.
