LITTLE ONES AT HOME. 251

 

MOTHER.

’T is true, my love, that you must die ;
The God who made you says you must :
And every one of us shall lie, -
Like the dear baby in the dust.

These hands, and feet, and busy head
Shall waste and crumble quite away ;

But though your body shall be dead,
There is a part which can’t decay.

 

. *T MUST DIE.”

I am young, but I must die;
In my grave I soon shall lie:
Am I ready now to go,

If the will of God be so?

Lord, prepare me for my end,
To my heart thy Spirit send ;
Help me, Jesus, thee to love,
Take my soul to heaven above.

Then I shall with Jesus be,
Then I shall my Saviour see ;
Never more have any pain,
Never more shall sin again.