I remember how I loved her, when a little guileless child,
I saw her in the cradle, as she looked on me and smiled:
My cup of happiness was full, my joy words cannot tell,
And I blessed the glorious Giver, who doeth all things well.
Months passed: that bud of promise was unfolding every hour,
I thought that earth had never smiled upon a fairer flower;
So beautiful it well might grace the bowers where angels dwell,
And waft its fragrance to His throne, who doeth all things well.
Years fled: that little sister then was dear as life to me,
And woke in my unconscious heart a wild idolatry:
I worshipped at an earthly shrine, lured by some magic spell,
Forgetful of the praise of Him, who doeth all things well.
She was the lovely star whose light around my pathway shone,
Amid this darksome vale of tears, through which I journey on:
Its radiance had obscured the light, which round His throne should dwell,
And I wandered far away from Him, who doeth all things well
That star went down in beauty, yet it shineth sweetly now
In the bright and dazzling coronet, which decks my Saviour’s brow:
She bowed to the Destroyer, whose shafts none may repel,
But we know, for God hath told us, He doeth all things well.
I remember well my sorrow as I stood beside her bed,
And my deep and heartfelt anguish, when they told me she was dead:
And, oh! that cup of bitterness—let not my heart rebel;
God gave—He took—He will restore; He doeth all things well.