At early morn a little child
Woke with a bitter cry;
The mother started up in haste
To ask the reason why;
When suddenly the bitter cry
Was chang’d into a smile;
And this the little one’s reply:
“Ma’s near me all the while!”
The child had missed the mother’s arm
On waking from her sleep;
This was the cause of her alarm,
‘Twas this that made her weep.
But, on the mother’s breast, the tear
Was chang’d into a smile;
It was enough to know that she
Was “near her all the while.”
The mother, by the infant taught,
Suppress’d a rising tear;
And thus it is with me, she thought,
When I have doubt or fear.
And be it simple, thus, to turn
The tear into a smile;
With this assurance, dearest Lord,
Thou’rt “near me all the while.”
My heart has question’d Thee, O Lord,
In dark and dreary day;
“Is Thine ear heavy, Lord, to hear,
Or art Thou far away?
Thy hand was stretched, Thine ear had heard,
And Thou vast free to smile;
And then hast still’d me with the word,
‘I’m near thee all the while.’
Yet not, in pain and grief alone,
My heart would know Thy love;
The hand that dries the mourner’s tears,
Will tune her harp above.
If it be sweet on earth below,
To walk beneath Thy smile;
‘Twill be the joy of heaven to know,
Thou art ‘near me all the while.’”