We are but little children weak Nor born in any high estate. . . . . There's not a child so small and weak But has his little cross to take, His little work of love and praise That he may do for Jesus' sake.
Cecil Frances AlexanderThe rich man in his castle, The poor man at his gate, God made them, high or lowly, And order'd their estate.
Cecil Frances AlexanderThere is a green hill far away, Without a city wall, Where the dear Lord was crucified, Who died to save us all.
Cecil Frances AlexanderWhen the friends we love the best Lie in their churchyard bed, We must not cry too bitterly Over the happy dead.
Cecil Frances Alexander