Should ever its beauty efface,
To appear the while,
If I were a smile, a beautiful smile.
If I were a sigh, a sorrowing sigh,
In the breast of a maiden fair;
I would speed me on angel wings above,
And lie like a beautiful wounded dove
At the feet of my Saviour there,
Till he heard my cry,
If I were a sigh, a sorrowing sigh.