The Lord called me before I was born.
He hid me in the shadow of His hand.
I think today of the little ones from the womb torn.
The sign was given to Zechariah when John was no more than a grain of sand.

What will the child turn out to be they wondered.
Indeed the hand of the Lord was with him.
Should we then not morn the child sundered?
Precious is even the tiniest limb.

Was not John the greatest prophet?
Yet his father did not believe.
Every little thing counts to our profit.
Everything to his mercy we should leave.

Every child will wondrously grow up.
At the Lord’s feast to sup.