And whose beautiful trust ne’er faileth,
The grass is green and the flowers are bright,
Tho the wintry storm prevaileth.
There is ever a gem in the path of life,
Which we pass in our idle pleasure,
That is richer far than the jeweled crown,
Or the miser’s hoarded treasure.
It may be the love of a little child;
Or a mother’s prayers to heaven;
Or only a beggar’s grateful thanks