Ah what a little thing it seemed,
When first Eve plucked the tree:
And yet it brought the fruit of death—
Poor child—on you and me.
She listened to the Devil’s word,
And on it did rely;
But, O! the day she took the fruit—
She found that she must die.
God could not from His word depart.
And so with all in sin;
The moment life we enter on,
To die we but begin.
Is there no hope, poor little one—
No hope for you and me?
Ah! yes, the Saviour shed His blood
Upon the cursed tree.
That we eternal life might have,
Which never can decay:
Which neither Satan, nor the world,
Can ever take away.
Then little children, come and take
The life which God has given;
For all who have that life on earth,
Shall spend that life in heaven.
ML 12/22/1918