“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.