I Think, When I Read That Sweet Story

I think

when I read that sweet sto­ry of old

When Je­sus was here among men

How He called lit­tle child­ren as lambs to His fold

I should like to have been with them then.

I wish that His hands had been placed on my head

That His arms had been thrown around me

And that I might have seen His kind look when He said

Let the lit­tle ones come un­to Me.

Yet still to His foot stool in pray­er I may go;

And ask for a share in His love;

And if I thus ear­nest­ly seek Him be­low

I shall see Him and hear Him ab­ove.

But thou­sands and thou­sands who wan­der and fall

Never heard of that heav­en­ly home;

I wish they could know there is room for them all

And that Je­sus has bid them to come.

In that beau­ti­ful place He has gone to pre­pare

For all who are washed and for­giv’n;

And ma­ny dear children shall be with Him there

For of such is the king­dom of Heav’n.

I long for the joy of that glo­ri­ous time

The sweet­est and bright­est and best

When the dear lit­tle child­ren of ev­ery clime

Shall crowd to His arms and be blest.