Ah, what a little thing it seemed
When first Eve plucked the tree:
And vet it brought the fruit of death—
Poor child—on you and me.
She listened to the Devil’s word,
And on his word relied:
But, O! the day she took the fruit—
That very day she died.
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?
Ali! yes, the Saviour shed His blood
Upon the cursed tree,
That we a better 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 02/02/1936