I LEAVE thee, dearest, for a while,
Yet leave thee, with our God;
His sheltering wing, is o'er us still,
At home, and when abroad.
I leave with thee, our little ones,
The lovely, and the loved;
And if, for only joy I sought,
My feet had never roved.
But He who gave, and guards them, still,
Has called me, as His own,
To bear His word, to sinful men,
And lead them, to His throne.
Thus must the Master's work be mine,
Till life's brief hour, is o'er;
I dare not "love thee," dear, so well,
Loved I not Jesus, more.