1 By her cot at hush of eve,
Knelt a little spotless one,
Golden curls adown her neck,
Radiant as the setting sun;
Meekly clasp’d her dimpled hands,
And her upturn’d brow was fair,
Where her softly parted lips
Whispers out a childish pray’r.
2 Holy Father, hear my cry,
To thy little child draw nigh;
I am weak, but thou art strong,
Keep me ever from the wrong;
Teach me always what is right,
Guard me thro’ the long, dark night;
All my many faults forgive,
Let me sometime with thee live.
3 Thron’d in glory and in light,
High the heav’n of heav’ns above;
Reigning o’er ten-thousand worlds,
Dwelt the mighty Lord of love;
Music soft around him swept,
Golden harp and seraph lyre,
Endless hallelujahs, breath’d
Forth by heav’ns rejoicing choir.
4 Sure the pray’r of childhood store
Softly to the heart of hearts,
Blending with the music’s spell
Which the cherub psalm imparts;
Guileless, pleading, trustful, pure,
Holy incense unto heaven;
Richer gift than angels bring,
Lo! a little child hath given.