Happy the child whose young­est years
Receive in­struct­ions well;
Who hates the sin­ner’s path, and fears
The road that leads to hell.

When we de­vote our youth to God,
’Tis pleas­ing in His eyes;
A flow­er, when of­fered in the bud,
Is no vain sac­ri­fice.

’Tis ea­si­er work if we be­gin
To fear the Lord be­times;
While sin­ners, that grow old in sin,
Are hard­ened in their crimes.

’Twill save us from a thou­sand snares
To mind re­li­gion young:
Grace will pre­serve our fol­low­ing years,
And make our vir­tue strong.

To Thee, Al­migh­ty God, to Thee
Our child­hood we re­sign:
’Twill please us to look back and see
That our whole lives were Thine.

Let the sweet work of pray­er and praise
Employ my young­est breath!
Thus I’m pre­pared for fu­ture days,
Or fit for ear­ly death.