THE LITTLE CHILDREN.
“Suffer little children to come unto me
and forbid them not."
DOWN from the long past ages,
Down through the mists of years
Cometh a ray of gladness
Gleaming athwart our tears;
Cometh a voice—how gentle,
Tender and soft and low
As when he spoke of the "little ones"
In the days of long ago.
Into our night of sorrow—
Dark with a bitter pain,
Fraught with a thirst for the cup of joy
That cometh not again;
His loving rebuke falls gently,
And our grieving lips are dumb,
"Suffer the little children,
And forbid them not to come."
"Suffer the little children."
O Saviour, unto thee,
Into thy hands we give them,
Forever thine to be.
We know thy love is tender;
We know thou knowest best;
We know that in thy circling arms
Our darling ones are blest.
—S. J. Jones.