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.

Close to his loving heart he pressed
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 heavenly Father's face.


R. S. Hawker