180
stanzas.
When beauty's spell lies all around, o'er fields, and flowers, and skies,
And every object wears the mirth of childhood's joylit eyes.
Rejoice in life, ye little ones; oh! who could mar your joy,
Who revelled once in childhood's sports, or been himself a boy;
Who, wearied out with very joy, each night hath sank to rest,
And woke again, the same glad thoughts still gushing in his breast—
All happiness, ne'er thinking why, nor whence, nor where the source,
As rapture with existence blent were but a thing of course?
Sport on, ye happy ones, sport on, while life's glad morn endures,
The wholeness of affection now, and truthfulness are yours;
A few revolving springs, and these sweet, gladsome starry eyes,
Shall see less beauty in the earth, less brilliancy in skies;—
Yet who would by convictions break, of coming care and pain,
And wrinkled age, the glorious dreams which in young bosoms reign?
And every object wears the mirth of childhood's joylit eyes.
Rejoice in life, ye little ones; oh! who could mar your joy,
Who revelled once in childhood's sports, or been himself a boy;
Who, wearied out with very joy, each night hath sank to rest,
And woke again, the same glad thoughts still gushing in his breast—
All happiness, ne'er thinking why, nor whence, nor where the source,
As rapture with existence blent were but a thing of course?
Sport on, ye happy ones, sport on, while life's glad morn endures,
The wholeness of affection now, and truthfulness are yours;
A few revolving springs, and these sweet, gladsome starry eyes,
Shall see less beauty in the earth, less brilliancy in skies;—
Yet who would by convictions break, of coming care and pain,
And wrinkled age, the glorious dreams which in young bosoms reign?
