The Heart Of A Child

Give me thy happy heart, Oh little child! Where love springs like the sweetest flower, wild, From all its virgin soil, and radiantly Reflects its fresh, unsullied purity.

Give me thy heart, that knows not heat or hate, Nor passion thrills, nor grief makes desolate, When love, lone, reigned, and Life but smiled and smiled, Give me thy spotless heart, Oh little child!

Give me thine artless tongue that to deceive Knows not; but lisps to laugh and wakes to weave In whispered words diviner melody Of love than speaks in grandest symphony.

Give me thine eyes that see but happiness, Nor aught of else in all the hours that bless Thy childhood time, nor any graver ray Than the glad sunshine of an endless day.

Would we could cleanse our hearts and make them young, As when were sweeter chimes of childhood rung From them, and when were flowers springing wild From the untrampled soil, Oh little child!