Tell me, mamma, if I must die
One day, as little baby died,
And look so very pale, and lie
Down in the graveyard by his side?
Shall I leave dear papa and you,
And never see you any more?
Tell me, mamma, if this is true;
I did not know it was before.
'T is true, my love, that you must die;
The God who made you says you must:
And every one of us shall lie,
Like the dear baby in the dust.
These hands, and feet, and busy head
Shall waste and crumble quite away;
But though your body shall be dead,
There is a part which can't decay.