Gone to bloom above

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A gentle hand unseen by us
Has plucked our tender bud;
By this alone our grief is blest—
It was the hand of God.

Refrain:
O gentle one, we miss thee here,
Sweet form we love so well;
But in our Father’s better care,
We know the child is well.

In all our hearts He planted deep
This precious little one;
As forth He takes His own, we weep,
But say, “Thy will be done.”

No care was lavished here in vain
Upon this plant of love;
Though soon removed, ’twill bloom again
In sweeter form above.

Would not our grief forever flow
Upon thy silent tomb,
Did not our hearts this comfort know—
We soon to thee shall come.

Dear Jesus, Thou hast died for us,
And for our darling, too;
We trust Thee in each providence,
Thy love is ever true.

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