LIPS OF CHILDHOOD FRAME

Who for me, for me, hast died.
Of life the Fountain Thou,
I know, I feel It now;
Faint and dead no more I drop

Through Him the first fond prayers
are said Our lips of childhood frame,
The last low whispers of our dead
Are burdened with His name.

Accept my new-born cry
Bee the travail of Thy soul,
Saviour, and be satisfied;
Take me now, possess me whole,

O Lord and Master of us all,
Whate'er our name or sign,
We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call,
We test our lives by Thine.