By cool Siloam's shady rill

By cool Siloam’s shady rill

How sweet the lily grows!

How sweet the breath beneath the hill,

Of Sharon ’s dewy rose!

Lo! such the child whose early feet

The paths of peace have trod,

Whose secret heart with influence sweet

Is upward drawn to God.

O thou whose infant feet were found

Within thy Father’s shrine,

Whose years, with changeless virtue crowned,

Were all alike divine.

Dependent on thy bounteous breath,

We seek thy grace alone,

In childhood, manhood, age and death,

To keep us still thine own.

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