Sing to the Lord the child­ren’s hymn,
His gen­tle love de­clare,
Who bends amid the se­ra­phim
To hear the child­ren’s pray­er.

He at a mo­ther’s breast was fed,
Though God’s own Son was He;
He learnt the first small words He said
At a meek mo­ther’s knee.

He held us to His migh­ty breast,
The child­ren of the earth;
He lift­ed up His hands and blessed
The babes of hu­man birth.

Lo! from the stars His face will turn
On us with glanc­es mild;
The an­gels of His pre­sence yearn
To bless the lit­tle child.

Keep us, O Je­sus Lord, for Thee,
That so by Thy dear grace
We, child­ren of the font, may see
Our heav’n­ly Fa­ther’s face.