THOUGH I am but a little child,
I love the house of prayer;
On little children Jesus smiled,
And loves to see them there.
And when, without those happy walls,
I tread life’s thorny way,
Whene’er my God or duty calls,
I’ll cheerfully obey.
Whatever path he bids me tread,
This shall my beacon be—
Though clouds may gather overhead,
My Saviour died for me.
His gentle, patient, loving face
On earth I cannot see;
But I can, at the throne of grace,
Seek him who died for me.
And when my pilgrimage is done,
And life’s last day is o’er,
The crown of life will then be won,
And sorrow be no more.
For in his kingdom, face to face,
My Saviour I shall see;
And in his glorious visage trace
Jesus who died for me.