175
To Bay Brewster.
Sweet little babe, with thine eyes soft and tender
Dear little herald of blessing and joy,
Angels of heaven rejoice o'er thy beauty:
Baby—our baby—our own precious boy.
God was so good when He sent this wee blossom,
Fresh from the garden of flowers above,
Into our hearts by His kind hands transplanted,
Ever to cherish, and care for, and love.
Dear little herald of blessing and joy,
Angels of heaven rejoice o'er thy beauty:
Baby—our baby—our own precious boy.
God was so good when He sent this wee blossom,
Fresh from the garden of flowers above,
Into our hearts by His kind hands transplanted,
Ever to cherish, and care for, and love.
Gentle the hands that will lead thee, dear baby,
Tender the lips that will answer thy call,
Strong the fond arms that will shelter and fold thee,
Lest in the weakness our darling should fall.
If in our power lies the secret of making
Life every moment a season of joy,
Thine shall be glad as the song of the wild birds,
Thine shall be bright as the morn, darling boy.
Tender the lips that will answer thy call,
Strong the fond arms that will shelter and fold thee,
Lest in the weakness our darling should fall.
If in our power lies the secret of making
Life every moment a season of joy,
Thine shall be glad as the song of the wild birds,
Thine shall be bright as the morn, darling boy.
