Strange to our ears the church-bells of our home; The fragrance of our old paternal fields May be forgotten; and the time may come When the babe's kiss no sense of pleasure yields E'en to the doting mother: but Thine own Thou never canst forget, nor leave alone. There are who sigh that no fond heart is theirs, None loves them best -- O vain and selfish sigh! Out of the bosom of His love He spares -- The Father spares the Son, for thee to die: For thee He died -- for thee He lives again: O'er thee He watches in His boundless reign. Thou art as much His care, as if beside Nor man nor angel lived in Heaven or earth: Thus sunbeams pour alike their glorious tide To light up worlds, or wake an insect's mirth: They shine and shine with unexhausted store -- Thou art thy Saviour's darling -- seek no more. |