A Christian worker going through the tenements in the east end of London looking for unfortunates to help, came one day into a wretched room in the upper story of one of the large tenement houses. There seemed to be no one in the room and the worker was about to leave when he noticed a ladder leading up to a hole in the ceiling. Something impelled him to climb the ladder. When he had put his head through the hole in the ceiling, the garret at first was so dark he could not see, but as he became accustomed to the darkness, he saw a child lying on a pile of stuff in the corner.
“What are you doing here, child?” the worker said. “Hush,” the child said, “don’t tell Father.” “But what are you doing here?” The child showed the worker his back bearing the marks of the awful beating that the drunken father had given him. The worker said, “You cannot stay here. You will die here. I will go and get you help.” As the worker was about to withdraw, the little fellow said, “Would you like to hear a hymn that I learned at the Sunday school?” The worker stopped a moment to listen and the child repeated the familiar verse,
“Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look upon a little child.
Pity my simplicity,
Suffer me to come to Thee.
Fain would I to Thee be brought,
Gracious Lord, forbid it not
In the kingdom of Thy grace,
Make a little child a place.”
Telling the child to keep quiet and he would soon return, the worker stole away for help. He found a place to take the child and soon returned to get him. Again he climbed the ladder and put his head through the hole in the ceiling, but everything was quiet. He spoke to the child but there was no answer. The child was dead. His prayer had been heard.
“In the kingdom of Thy grace,
The Lord had given the little child a place.”
“The Lord had given the little child a place.”