By cool Siloam’s shady rill
How fair the lily grows!

Flow sweet the breath, beneath the hill
Of Sharon's dewy rose!

Lo! such the child whose youthful feet
The paths of peace have trod,

Whose secret heart with infinence sweet,
Is upward turned to God.

By cool Siloam’s shady rill
The lily must decay;

The rose that blooms beneath the hill
Must shortly fade away.

And soon, too soon, the wintry hour
Of man’s maturer age

H%7ll shake the soul with sorrow's power
And stormy passtons rage.

O Thou who givest life and breath,
We seek Thy grace alone,
In childhood, manhood, age and death
To keep us still Thine own.
—REGINALD HEBER.