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

Crushed as a bud before it came to flower;

Gone as a star that lent its feeble ray,

Ere yet the morn had brightened into day.

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.

Lord, rest the child. Within the heavenly place,

Thine angel ever sees the Father's face;

Thine is the kingdom, and to claim His own,

Christ left the glory of a kingly throne.

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.