| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | X. The Pity of It O God, to Thee I yield | | By Thomas Edward Brown (18301897) |
| | | O GOD, to Thee I yield | |
| The gift Thou givest most precious, most divine! | |
| Yet to what field | |
| I must resign | |
| His little feet | 5 |
| That wont to be so fleet, | |
| I muse. O, joy to think | |
| On what soft brink | |
| Of flood he plucks the daffodils, | |
| On what empurpled hills | 10 |
| He stands, Thy kiss all fresh upon his brow, | |
| And wonders, if his father sees him now! | | | | |
|
|