Let the little children come
To a Saviour’s breast;
Little souls feel weariness,
Little hearts need rest.
Jesus wants a tiny hand
In the harvest field;
To the touch of fingers small
Giant hearts may yield.
Jesus wants a baby voice,
Praises sweet to sing—
Earth’s discordant choruses
Shaming, silencing.
Jesus bids those little feet
Carry comfort rare
To some troubled, weary soul,
Full of dark despair.
Little saints have work to do,
Precious souls to win,
Standing at the golden gate
Asking others in.
Perhaps amid the crowding throng,
No one else might see,
That some little faces asked,
“Is there room for me?”
Heaven is full of little ones—
God’s great nursery,
Where the fairest flowers of earth
Bloom eternally.
ML 10/08/1944