Zaccheus

Thro’ the crowd­ed streets of Jer­icho see

The holy Na­za­rene go;

Hear the shouts of praise

From the hap­py ones there

Who His heal­ing vir­tues know.

Praise ye the Lord

His mer­cies show

Ever in His love con­fide;

More than we ask will He be­stow

Willingly with us abide.

In the friend­ly shade of sy­ca­more tree

The joy­ful pub­li­can see;

Hear the Mas­ter’s voice say­ing

Zaccheus

come

For I must ab­ide with thee.

Like an ear­nest lit­tle Zac­che­us

I

Would fain the Ho­ly One see;

I would haste with joy

At the bless­èd com­mand

For I must ab­ide with thee.