Sweet children, in the Cross, you bring,
Three lessons, I discern
For, though I'm nearly sixty years,
I'm not too old to learn.
It teaches me, that, for my sins,
My God was crucified:
Incarnate as the Virgin's Son,
The Lord of glory died.
It teaches me, that I must bear
His painful, shameful Cross;
And count, for Him, myself, the world,
And all things else, but loss.
It teaches me, that fadeless wreaths,
For faithful ones, are twined;
When, through the Spirit's guiding love,
Their homes, in heaven, they find.
Sweet children, learn these lessons, now;
The bleeding Cross, hold fast;
Endure its load, in patient love;
And wear the Crown, at last.
* The pupils of St. Mary's Hall.
** This same Cross, that, for so many years, had told him of his children's Christmas love, was laid on this, "first Christmas without their Father," among the flowers that bloomed that day upon his grave.