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.