List thee, Wee One;
See, thou art o' the hearth o' the loved o' me.

So look thee; when thou hast seen a thing
That sheweth unto thee as lovely,
Think thou o' Him, yea,
And know this thing he His.
Then shall this hand to pluck?
And doth it shew unto thee
E'en at the thought o' Him, lovely,
Then 'tis for thee.
And doth it shew 'pon thy cheek
The blush at the thought of Him,
Then, Wee One, flee!

Keep this athin thy heart;
Flee from aught save His.