I am a lit­tle child, ’tis true,
Yet some­thing sure­ly I may do
To make the Sav­ior known;
In love He has re­deemed my soul,
He found me sick, He made me whole,
And sealed me for His own.

And can I see the hea­then die,
And use no means to bring them nigh,
Nor Gos­pel mes­sage send?
Can I en­joy my Fa­ther’s smile,
And ne­ver think that, all the while,
They have no Sav­ior friend?

Ah no! this would not be like Him
Who died all na­tions to re­deem;
And who has bid us pray,
That all may know the love of God,
And all be washed in Je­sus’ blood,
Which takes their sins away.

And though I’ve lit­tle to bestow,
Yet giv­en will­ing­ly, I know
The lit­tle I can send,
Will be as pleas­ing in His sight,
As was the poor old wi­dow’s mite,
Which Jesus did com­mend.

Then let me ne­ver think or say,
That I’m too young a child to pray,
Or give for Jesus’ sake:
If done from love to Him alone,
The feeb­lest effort He will own,
And all the glo­ry take.