Whenever a little child is born,
All night a soft wind rocks the corn;
One more buttercup wakes to the morn,
Somewhere, somewhere.
One more rosebud shy will unfold,
One more grass-blade push through the mold,
One more bird-song the air will hold,
Somewhere, somewhere.
A simple-hearted child was He,
And He was nothing more;
In summer days, like you and me,
He played about the door,
Or gathered, where the father toiled.
The shavings from the floor.
Sometimes He lay upon the grass,
The same as you and I,
And saw the hawks above Him pass
Like specks against the sky;
Or,...
For Night and Morning
THOU that once, on mother’s knee,
Wast a little one like me,
When I wake or go to bed
Lay thy hands about my head:
Let me feel thee very near,
Jesus Christ, our Saviour dear.
Be beside me in the light,
Close by me through all the night;
Make me gentle, kind, and true,
Do what mother bids me...
