In Paradise reposing, by life's eternal well, the tender lambs of Jesus in greenest pastures dwell. There palms and tiny crownlets aglow with brightest gem, bedeck the baby martyrs who died in Bethlehem. With them the rose-wreathed army of children undefiled, who passed through mortal torments for love of Christ the Child; with them in peace unending, with them in joyous mirth, are all the stainless infants which since have gone from earth. The angels, once their guardians, their fellows now in grace, with them in love adoring, see God the Father's face. The lullaby to hush them in that eternal rest, is sweet angelic singing, their nurse God's Mother blest. O Jesus, loving Shepherd, who tenderly dost bear thy lambs in thine own bosom, bring us to join them there.