By cool Siloam’s shady rill

How fair the lily grows!

How sweet the breath, beneath the hill,

Of Sharon’s dewy rose!

2 Lo! such the child, whose early feet

The paths of peace have trod,

Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,

Is upward drawn to God.

3 By cool Siloam’s shady rill

The lily must decay;

The rose that blooms beneath the hill,

Must shortly fade away.

4 And soon, too soon, the wintry hour

Of man’s maturer age,

Will shake the soul with sorrow’s power,

And stormy passions rage.

5 O, thou who givest life and breath,

We seek thy grace alone,

In childhood, manhood, age and death,

To keep us still thine own.