the worship of childhood.
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From whispering bough, and murmuring brook, and feathered minstrels' lays,
Arose the mingling sacrifice, the choral song of praise.
As though an angel's wing had drooped in grace and glory there,
Went up from His mute worshipers the "still small" breath of prayer.
Arose the mingling sacrifice, the choral song of praise.
As though an angel's wing had drooped in grace and glory there,
Went up from His mute worshipers the "still small" breath of prayer.
While swelled the adoring anthem forth from mountain and from plain,
A noble boy the music caught, and raised his tuneful strain.
While with his infant voice he spread his Maker's praise abroad,
He gently whispered in our ear, "I sang that song for God."
A noble boy the music caught, and raised his tuneful strain.
While with his infant voice he spread his Maker's praise abroad,
He gently whispered in our ear, "I sang that song for God."
Thou blessed one! upon whose brow life's dew-drops still are bright,
Homage like that ascends to God, accepted in His sight.
Richer than minstrel's melody, or organ's pealing tone,
The heart's deep adoration swells to His celestial throne.
Homage like that ascends to God, accepted in His sight.
Richer than minstrel's melody, or organ's pealing tone,
The heart's deep adoration swells to His celestial throne.
When manhood's sterner seal is set upon that infant brow,
Still be thy spirit's homage poured, as pure, as fresh as now:
The hand of God be on thy head, His smile illume the way
Which leads His fervent worshiper to heaven's unclouded day.
Still be thy spirit's homage poured, as pure, as fresh as now:
The hand of God be on thy head, His smile illume the way
Which leads His fervent worshiper to heaven's unclouded day.
