666. C. M. Stennett. Infants, living or dying, in the Arms of Christ.
1 Thy life I read, my dearest Lord,
With transport all-divine;
Thine image trace in every word,
Thy love in every line.
2 With joy, I see a thousand charms
Spread o'er thy lovely face;
While infants in thy tender arms
Receive the smiling grace.
3 |I take these little lambs,| said he,
|And lay them on my breast;
Protection they shall find in me, --
In me be ever blest.
4 |Death may the bands of life unloose,
But can't dissolve my love;
Millions of infant souls compose
The family above.|
5 His words, ye happy parents, hear,
And shout, with joys divine,
|Dear Saviour! all we have and are
Shall be forever thine.|