Dear Little One

Dear lit­tle One! how sweet Thou art

Thine eyes so bright they shine

So bright they al­most seem to speak

When Ma­ry’s looks meet Thine.

How faint and fee­ble is Thy cry

Like plaint of harm­less dove

When Thou dost mur­mur in Thy sleep

Of sor­row and of love.

When Ma­ry bids Thee sleep Thou sleep’st

Thou wak­est when she calls;

Thou art con­tent up­on her lap

Or in the rug­ged stalls.

Simplest of Babes! with what a grace

Thou dost Thy mo­ther’s will

Thine in­fant fash­ions all be­tray

The God­head’s hid­den skill.

When Jo­seph takes Thee in his arms

And smoothes Thy lit­tle cheek

Thou look­est up into his face

So help­less and so meek.

Yes! Thou art what Thou seem’st to be

A thing of smiles and tears;

Yet Thou art God

and Heav’n and earth

Adore Thee with their fears.

Yes! dear­est Babe! those ti­ny hands

That play with Ma­ry’s hair

The weight of all the migh­ty world

This ve­ry mo­ment bear.

Art Thou

weak Babe

my ve­ry God?

O I must love Thee then

Love Thee

and yearn to spread Thy love

Among for­get­ful men.