The Mas­ter has come over Jor­dan,
Said Han­nah, the mo­ther, one day,
He is heal­ing the people who throng Him,
With a touch of His fin­ger, they say;
And now I shall car­ry the child­ren—
Little Ra­chel, and Sa­mu­el, and John,
And dear lit­tle Esther, the ba­by,
For the Mas­ter to look up­on.

The fa­ther then looked at her kind­ly,
And said, as he ten­der­ly smiled,
Now who but a fond lov­ing mo­ther
Would think of a pro­ject so wild?
If the child­ren were tor­tured by de­mons,
Or dy­ing with fev­er, ’twere well;
Or had they taint of the le­per,
Like ma­ny around us who dwell.

Nay, nay, do not hin­der me, Na­than,
I feel such a bur­den of care;
And if to the Mas­ter I tell it,
That bur­den He’ll help me to bear;
If He but lays His hands on the child­ren,
My heart will be light­er, I know,
For a bless­ing for ev­er and ev­er
Will fol­low them each as they go.

So, ov­er the mount­ains of Ju­dah,
Along with the vines all so green,
With Es­ther asleep on her bo­som,
And Ra­chel her bro­thers between;
With the peo­ple who hung on His teach­ing,
Or wait­ed His touch or His word;
Through the row of proud Pha­ri­sees hast­en­ing,
She pressed to the feet of the Lord.

Now, why shouldst thou hin­der the Mas­ter,
Said Pe­ter, with child­ren like these?
Thou know­est from morn un­til ev­en­ing
He is teach­ing and heal­ing dis­ease.
Said Je­sus: For­bid not the child­ren,
Permit them to come un­to Me!
Then He took in His arms lit­tle Es­ther,
And Ra­chel He sat on His knee.

The care-strick­en heart of the mo­ther
Was lift­ed all sor­row above;
His hands kind­ly laid on the child­ren,
He blest them with ho­li­est love;
And said of the babes on His bo­som,
Of such are the king­dom of Heav­en.
Then the strength for all du­ty and tri­al,
That hour to her spir­it was giv­en.