I

Lord, rest the child; cut off at morning hour,

Crushed as a bud before it came to flower;

Gone as the star that lent its feeble ray,

Ere yet the morn had brightened into day.

II

Lord, rest the child; no bliss on earth was thine,

Drink now the pleasures of the life divine;

Here streams that gladden, when the sun is high,

Shrink in their channels, 'neath a burning sky.

III

Lord, rest the child; within the heavenly place,

Thine angel ever views the Father's face;

Thine is the kingdom, and to claim His own,

Christ left the glory of a kingly throne.

IV

Lord, rest the child; we will not weep for thee—

Death is not death to those with Christ that be;

Mourn we with weeping, that the sin is ours,

To blight the beauty of earth's fairest flowers.