O Lord Jesus, high in Heaven,

God’s belovèd One,

Crowned with glory and with honour,

Brighter than the sun—

Art Thou Him whom little children

Knew long years ago,

When a little child amongst them

Thou didst come and go?

Well they knew the little cottage,

Small, and poor, and mean,

Where Thou wert a child obedient

As no child has been—

Holy, true, and tender, doing

All Thy Father’s will;

If men loved, or if they hated,

Loving, serving still.

Well they knew the workshop lowly

Where Thy days were spent,

Through the summer and the winter,

Peaceful and content.

O Lord Jesus, not as Thou wert

Have I ever been;

Selfishness and pride and anger

In my ways are seen.

Yet I would that I were like Thee,

Holy, tender, true,

As Thou didst and as Thou spakest

Would I speak and do.

Never selfish, never murmuring,

Loving, serving all,

Till in heaven amidst Thy glory

At Thy feet I fall—

See Thee who a child becamest

In a cottage poor,

That I might in Thy fair palace

Dwell for evermore.