As the sweet flower that scents the morn,

But withers in the rising day—

Thus lovely seemed the infant’s dawn;

Thus swiftly fled his life away!

2 Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,

Death timely came with friendly care;

The opening bud to heaven conveyed,

And bade it bloom for ever there.

3 He died to sin, and all its woes,

But for a moment felt the rod—

On love’s triumphant wing he rose,

To rest for ever with his God!