  This little angel at my side, Just four days old, our God hath given, The little spirit newly fledged, Just from our Father’s hand in Heaven. Like a bright sunbeam thou art come, To cheer and bless our earthly home. No word ever fell from the dear little lips, So sweet and so ruby; so guileless and mute. God teach thee the language of love, my sweet babe: May glad songs of Jesus pour forth from thy lute. When fresh buds of thought are early unfolding, God give to thy heart the true, heavenly molding, And placing Christ’s image all glorious there, To shield in temptation and lead thee to prayer; In purity guide thee, sustained by His might; And crown thee at last in the City of Light, Where never to sin and to suffer and die, We’ll sing “Hallelujah” in Bowers on High. endpaper divider |
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