AK low to me, my Saviour, low and
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee
Who art not missed by any that entreat.
Speak to mo as to Mary at thy feet !
And if no precious gums my hands bestow,
Let my tears drop like amber while I
In reach of thy divinest voice
In humanest affection — thus, in sooth,
To lose the sense of losing.
As a child,
Whose song-bird seeks the wood for
Is sung to in its stead by mother's
Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,
He sleeps the faster that he wept before.