1. The mothers brought their children,
Arrayed in festive dress;
They clustered round the Saviour,
And in his arms did rest.
All eager for his blessing,
They passed their elder by;
The sight was like a rainbow,
New fallen from the sky.

2. The mothers of the children
With gladness watched the sight;
Trusting that Jesus' blessing
Might make their young lives bright.
Why trouble ye the Master?
Rebuked, they sadly gaze;
Perchance he may be weary,
With children's artless praise.

3. Suffer the little children,
The Saviour said that day;
To come unto me ever,
Thou shalt not tell them nay.
For always do their angels,
Before the Father stand;
The shining white-robed guardians
Of childhood's happy band.

4. Suffer the little children
Of such the kingdom is;
If you would gain its portals,
You must be such as these.
Thus spake the lowly Jesus,
Once Babe of Bethlehem;
Author of full salvation,
Worth more than any gem.