And bow thee to thy Father’s will;
His arm shall be thy constant stay,
Till thou art sweetly call’d away.
I charge my footsteps softly tread
The same dark way the Savior led;
My trembling feet shall never slide,
With such a Savior at my side.
DON’T CRY, MY MOTHER!
’Twas on a tranquil summer’s morn,
My gentle boy and I,