O holy Lord, content to fill
In lowly home the lowliest place,
Thy childhood’s law a mother’s will,
Obedience meek Thy brightest grace;
Lead every child that bears Thy name
To walk in Thine own guileless way,
To dread the touch of sin and shame,
And humbly, like Thyself, obey.
O let not this world’s scorching glow
Thy Spirit’s quickening dew efface,
Nor blast of sin to rudely blow,
And quench the trembling flame of grace.
Gather Thy lambs within Thine arm,
And gently in Thy bosom bear;
Keep them, O Lord, from hurt and harm,
And bid them rest for ever there.
So shall they, waiting here below,
Like Thee their Lord, a little span,
In wisdom and in stature grow,
And favor with both God and man.