The hearse was driv­en to our door,
It brought a cof­fin, white as snow;
Such cof­fins we had seen be­fore,
But ne­ver one, con­cerned us so.
They took the co­ver from the casque,
And placed a snow white form in­side;
We looked once more—it was the last—
On him who once had been our pride.

Our pre­cious child! O is it true
That we shall see his face no more?
His life was like the morn­ing dew—
’Tis gone; our hearts are bleed­ing sore!
A voice then whis­pered from above;
I gave, I al­so took away.
It was our Fa­ther’s voice of love!
Our con­so­la­tion, hope and stay.

Our babe has on­ly gone be­fore,
He’s safe at home on Je­sus’ breast,
Released from sor­row ev­er­more,
And soon with him we’ll sweet­ly rest;
We by the emp­ty cra­dle knelt,
Poured out our chast­ened souls in pray­er.
A strong­er tie to Heav’n we felt,
Because we knew our babe was there.