GOD'S OWN.
GOD lends us the birds and the babies
And the beautiful brilliant flowers;
We think in our pride of selfhood
The wonderful things are ours.
And the beautiful brilliant flowers;
We think in our pride of selfhood
The wonderful things are ours.
But lo! when the summer is over
The bird to its southern home flies,
And the flowers are gone from the meadow
Where once they delighted our eyes.
The bird to its southern home flies,
And the flowers are gone from the meadow
Where once they delighted our eyes.
And the babies, too, have departed;
Alas! for our hurrying tears,
Some over the gloomy river,
Some into the grown-up years.
Alas! for our hurrying tears,
Some over the gloomy river,
Some into the grown-up years.
The birds will return in the springtime
When flowers bespangle the sod;
But the babies, the blessed babies,
We have given them back to God.
When flowers bespangle the sod;
But the babies, the blessed babies,
We have given them back to God.