I hope that you know I am very weak,
Only a poor little thing at the best;
But children can love before they can speak,
And I hope that love will make up the rest.'
Oh beautiful pathway, untouched by care;
Oh you scattered roses on which we tread;
You lead to a church with its holy prayer,
And its Heaven-blessing over us shed!
Nightingales singing an exquisite tune
All the sweet music for me and for you,