All praise to God on high,
Who sets His heart on man,
And beck­ons from the sky,
And bids him turn again,
Gathers un­to Him­self his breath,
And bless­es by an ear­ly death.

E’en now His arms re­ceive
The spi­rit of my child;
He gave him to be­lieve,
He showed him re­con­ciled,
Cut short the sud­den work of grace,
And caught him up to see His face.

The hal­low­ing Spi­rit’s pray­er
Breathed from his sprin­kled heart,
And cried, The new­born heir
Is rea­dy to de­part!
And bless­ings on his friends ap­prove
The faith that sweet­ly works by love.

His faith is lost in sight,
His pray­ers are lost in praise,
Amidst the saints in light
He sings the Sav­ior’s grace,
Which strange­ly kept his con­science clean,
Unspotted in a world of sin.

So ear­ly to re­move
And quit the vale of tears,
A mi­ra­cle of love,
Throughout the ear­ly years,
Preserved his sac­red in­no­cence,
And snatched him un­cor­rupt­ed hence.

Who kept his gar­ments white,
Hath called him to a crown,
And lo! from Si­on’s height,
The hap­py soul looks down,
Beyond the range of friends re­moved,
Took from a world he ne­ver loved.

He can­not love it now,
Or feel its pois­on­ing power,
To Sa­tan’s im­age bow,
Whom all man­kind adore,
Worship the learned, or scar­let beast,
Or seek in crea­ture good his rest.

Nor plea­sure soft can soothe
His un­sus­pect­ing heart,
Or tempt his heed­less youth
From Je­sus to de­part,
Nor gran­deur turn his steps aside,
That state­ly lit­tle­ness of pride!

He can­not now as­pire
With a ma­li­ci­ous joy,
(While en­vi­ous pas­sions fire
The fond, ap­plaud­ed boy)
Or cloak his hon­or­able shame
With emu­la­tion’s spe­cious name.

Ambition in his breast
Shall ne­ver, ne­ver glow;
In garb an­gel­ic dressed,
And dei­fied below,
It is­sued from the dark abodes,
The glo­ri­ous fault of dev­il gods!

The soul su­pe­ri­or soars
To Heav’n’s un­fold­ing scene,
The ev­er­last­ing doors
Receive the stran­ger in.
And an­gels hail the new­born heir,
And kin­dred saints salute him there.

A roy­al co­ro­net
Upon his head they place,
With stars of glo­ry set,
And pearls of heav’n­ly grace;
They robe him in the milk-white vest,
And deck him for the mar­ri­age feast.

They bring his gold­en lyre,
And lo! he strikes the strings,
Amidst th’an­gel­ic choir,
The song of Mo­ses sings,
Th’an­gel­ic choir, trans­port­ed prove
Diviner joys, and strong­er love.

He lives to die no more,
He reigns above the sky,
And I the bless­ing bore,
A joy­ful mo­ther I
My dar­ling son have free­ly giv’n
T’exalt the hap­pi­ness of Heav’n.