I love to hear the sto­ry how
The Lord from Hea­ven came
And did not fear to vi­sit men
In all their sin and shame;
But touched the sick and made them well,
The blind and they did see,
And said of lit­tle child­ren, Su­ffer
Them to come to Me.

I love to think of Je­sus as
My gen­tle shep­herd Lord
Who leads in heav’n­ly pas­tures those
Who love to hear His Word;
And when I am in sor­row, and
Sore trou­ble makes me fear,
I hear Him say: Be not afraid,
My child, for I am near!

I love to speak to Him alone
In words of song and pray­er
In dark­est night and rough­est way,
For He is with me there;
And so He guides me that each day
I may not fail to see
The way to Heav’n, that where He is,
There al­so may I be.