A gentle hand unseen by us
Has plucked our tender bud;
By this alone our grief is blest-
It was the hand of God.
O gentle one, we miss thee here,
Sweet form we love so well;
But in our Father’s better care,
We know the child is well.
In all our hearts He planted deep
This precious little one;
As forth He takes His own, we weep,
But say, ‘Thy will be done.’
No care was lavished here in vain
Upon this plant of love;
Though soon removed, ’twill bloom again
In sweeter form above.
Would not our grief forever flow
Upon thy silent tomb,
Did not our hearts this comfort know-
We soon to thee shall come.
Dear Jesus, Thou hast died for us,
And for our darling, too;
We trust Thee in each providence,
Thy love is ever true.