A FATHER TO HIS MOTHERLESS CHILDREN.
Come, gather closer to my side,
My little smitten flock,
And I will tell of him who brought
Pure water from the rock—
Who boldly led God's people forth
From Egypt's wrath and guile,
And once a cradled babe did float,
All helpless on the Nile.
You're weary, precious ones, your eyes
Are wandering far and wide,
Think ye of her who knew so well
Your tender thought to guide?
Who could to Wisdom's sacred lore
Your fixed attention claim?
Ah! never from your hearts erase
That blessed Mother's name.
'Tis time to sing your evening hymn,
My youngest infant dove,
Come press thy velvet cheek to mine,
And learn the lay of love;
My sheltering arms can clasp you all,
My poor deserted throng,
Cling as you used to cling to her
Who sings the angel's song.
