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Rh If it be such a pleasant place, Oh, let us batten there! Our mother wept when father died Until her eyes were dim, And oft I think she longs to go And be at rest with him.

Ah, children dear! you speak a truth Whose depth you little see; Most blest it is to pass from hence In infant purity. Yet blest are also they who live Through years of good and ill, To serve their Lord, and day by day To do his holy will.

 

sun that gives me heat and light, The moon that cheers the gloom of night; The stars that sparkle in the sky, Like friendly eyes that watch on high:

The boundless sea, the spacious land, Whatever is great, or rich, or grand;— All these, and more than eye can see, The Lord has made for love of me.

And he has made these works divine, To win this wayward heart of mine; To make me do his blessed will, And daily love him better still. 