See Is­ra­el’s gen­tle shep­herd stand
With all-en­gag­ing charms;
Hark how He calls the ten­der lambs,
And folds them in His arms!

Permit them to ap­proach, He cries,
Nor scorn their hum­ble name;
For ’twas to bless such souls as these
The Lord of an­gels came.

We bring them, Lord, in thank­ful hands,
And yield them up to Thee;
Joyful that we our­selves are Thine,
Thine let our off­spring be.

Ye lit­tle flock, with plea­sure hear;
Ye child­ren, seek His face,
And fly with trans­port to re­ceive
The bless­ings of His grace.

If or­phans they are left be­hind,
Thy guard­ian care we trust,
That care shall heal our bleed­ing hearts,
While weep­ing o’er their dust.