IN the morn of the holy Sabbath
I like in the church to see
The dear little children clustered,
And worshiping there with me.
I am sure that the gentle pastor,
Whose words are like summer dew,
Is cheered as he gazes over
Those dear little heads in the pew. Faces earnest and thoughtful,
Innocent, grave, and sweet—
They look in the congregation
Like lilies among the wheat;
And I think that the tender Master,
Whose mercies are ever new,
Has a special benediction
For those dear little heads in the pew. When they hear, “The Lord is my
Shepherd,”
Or, “Suffer the babes to come,”
They are glad that the loving Father
Has given the lambs a home—
A place of their own with his people;
He cares for me and for you,
But close in his arms he gathers
Those dear little heads in the pew. So I love, in the great assembly,
On the Sabbath morn to see
The dear little children clustered,
And worshiping there with me;
For I know that our Heavenly Father,
Whose mercies are ever new,
Has a special benediction
For those little heads in the pew.
— Selected.