Classic Poem

And do Thy angels always worship Thee,
And guard Thy little ones adoring thus?
Always Thy face, O holy Father, see,
And in Thy presence minister to us?

And do they always drink the streams above
That from the Fount of living waters flow,
The while on secret embassies of love
They camp unwearied round Thy saints below?

And are the little ones who lisp Thy name
As much the objects of their tender care,
As those whose loftier work might seem to claim
In their great ministries a nobler share?

Still on the mystic ladder of the seer
Ascending and descending do they come,
And watch with sleepless love Thy pilgrims here,
Until they bear them to Thy perfect home?

And shall we join their shining ranks ere long
With harps of praise and garments wash'd in blood,
And swell with them the Alleluia song
Which rises from the universe of God?

O holy Father, make our service now
A daily sacrifice of prayer and praise:
And, as beneath Thy easy yoke we bow,
Vouchsafe us on Thy blessèd face to gaze;

Till in Thy glory, earthly labour done,
We see Thee as Thou art on Zion's height,
Service and worship blending into one
And duty felt to be supreme delight.