THERE was a lovely little child,
As merry as the birds,
And, bounding gaily o’er the ground
She loved to sing the words,
“I’m glad I ever saw the day,
Sing Glory, Glory, Glory,
When first I learned to read and pray,
And sing of Glory, Glory.”
The Saviour said, “Let little ones
Come, and my blessing claim,”
And He will in His bosom bear
The tender little lamb.
“I’m glad I ever saw the day,
Sing Glory, Glory, Glory,
When first I learned to read and pray,
And sing of Glory, Glory.”
That child had heard the tale of love,
Which Jesus came to tell;
She knew that He had died on earth,
To save from sin and hell.
And ‘twas this love that made her sing
Of Glory, Glory, Glory,
And to the Saviour praises bring
In Glory, Glory, Glory.
Ere long upon her dying bed
She lay in feverish pain;
In broken accents sweetly still,
She raised the joyous strain!
“I hope to praise Him when I die,
In Glory, Glory, Glory,
And shout salvation as I fly―
To Glory, Glory, Glory.”
Her little burning hands were clasp’d,
Unconsciously she smiled,
And looking upward to the sky,
Renew’d her measure wild;
“‘Tis glory’s foretaste makes me sing
Of Glory, Glory, Glory,
And praise Him who is King of kings,
Like those that sing in Glory.”
And when the fever’s rage was spent
Upon her helpless frame,
She smiled upon the weeping friends,
Who round her pillow came,
And softly lisp’d her fav’rite lay,
And murmured “Glory, Glory.
I’m glad I ever saw the day,
Sing Glory, Glory, Glory.”
The Saviour said, “Let little ones
Come, and my blessing claim!
And He will in His bosom bear
The tender little lamb―”
She spoke―and closed her eyes in night:
The soul had fled to glory!
Forever in that world of light
To sing of Glory, Glory.
And now, what lesson should be learned,
From this sweet infant’s story?
To follow in her steps along
The narrow path to glory;
There’s room enough in that blest place,
Where Jesus dwells in Glory,
For God has freely offered grace,
And Glory, Glory, Glory.