O Christ The Child
You little children in whose eyes
the undimmed light of heaven
Whose dreams are bright of para-
Whose thoughts are whiter than the
From holy lips and undefiled
Breathe your soft prayers like Christ
And you whose thinning looks are
With unreturning autumn's rime,
Whose forms, like wind worn trees,
Beneath the heavy storms of time.
Take Christ the Child to be your
Past the dim shoal where shadows
Oh, saving hands; oh, thou that hears
An earthly mother's lullabies,
Who sharest all our doubts and fears,
Whose bosom trembles to our sighs,
Teach us thy gospel pure and mild.
Make us like thee, O Christ the Child!