My Infant, Lord, to Thee I Gladly Bring

My in­fant

Lord

to Thee I glad­ly bring

She is of earth

and yet a heav’n­ly thing;

As the nude bird­ling in its mo­ther’s nest

So is this ba­by on my anx­ious breast.

Oh

like an an­gel

may she ev­er be!

And think

and speak

and act thro’ life for Thee!

A bird­ling

I would teach its ti­ny wings

To soar up

where each bright arch­an­gel sings

To join the songs of flam­ing se­ra­phim

And with the ran­somed sing th’eter­nal hymn.

But Thou

and Thou alone

canst give it might

To spread her wings for re­gions out of sight;

To nes­tle in the glo­ries of a throne

Which none can reach but love

and love alone.

Then come

oh come

my ba­by take and train

For life’s great work! She must not live in vain;

Of mun­dane birth

a more than mun­dane thing

To Thee

O Lord

my ba­by now I bring.

To Thee I con­se­crate my help­less child

Whose na­ture may be rough

and crook’d and wild

If Thou dost not

with plas­tic pow­er di­vine

Remold her in Thine im­age

yes in Thine.

Breathe in her soul the life—th’eter­nal life

Nor hat­red

pride

nor lust be ev­er rife

Within her heart; but as an an­gel

she

May ev­er feel

and speak

and act for Thee.