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LITTLE CHILDREN.
A simple child may lead us To the heights of faith sublime;Or a baby's dimpled fingers Draw a man away from crime.
A mother's soul is purer For the soul her own has borne,And her breast a sacred altar For the jewel it has worn.
And when we lay our darlings Down to sleep beneath the sod;The little folded fingers clasp Us closer to our God.
Then we turn all sorrow-stricken From this weary world of sinTo follow up the stairway Where those little feet have been.
They make life fairer, sweeter, With their innocence and love;They sanctify "God's Acre," And they gem His court above.
