O holy Lord, content to fill
In lowly home the lowliest place,
Thy childhood’s law a mother’s will,
Obedience meek Thy brightest grace;

Lead every child that bears Thy name
To walk in Thine own guileless way,
To dread the touch of sin and shame,
And humbly, like Thy­self, obey.

O let not this world’s scorching glow
Thy Spi­rit’s quickening dew efface,
Nor blast of sin to rudely blow,
And quench the trembling flame of grace.

Gather Thy lambs within Thine arm,
And gently in Thy bosom bear;
Keep them, O Lord, from hurt and harm,
And bid them rest for ever there.

So shall they, waiting here below,
Like Thee their Lord, a little span,
In wisdom and in stature grow,
And favor with both God and man.