Wee, precious earth-world, though so very small,
All the big stars know thee; thou art watched by all.
No star so favored as thyself hath been,
Where the King of Glory died to save from sin.
Brightest of sunbeam kiss thy ripening food.
Countless pure angels guard thy baby brood.
When we sing Love’s anthem, shouting it afar,
There’s a tender chorus sung for thee, O star!
Mighty is the arm that guideth on the way!
Planets keep their orbits while the comets play.