Tho to part wod be hard, yet this comfort is giv'n,
We shall know 'at awr treasures are safe up i' Heaven
Whear no moth an noa rust can corrupt or destroy,
Nor thieves can braik in, nor troubles annoy.
Blessins on thi! wee thing,—an whativver thi lot,
Tha'rt promised a mansion, tho born in a cot,
What fate is befoor thi noa mortal can see,
But Christ coom to call just sich childer as thee.
An this thowt oft cheers me, tho' fortun may fraan,
Tha may yet be a jewel to shine in His craan.