Up with the sun in the morning,
Away to the garden he hies,
To see if the sleeping blossoms,
Have begun to open their eyes.
Running a race with the wind,
With a step as light and fleet,
Under my window I hear
The patter of little feet.
Now to the brook he wanders,
In swift and noiseless flight,
Splashing the sparkling ripples
Like a fairy water-sprite.
His heart is a charmed casket,
Full of all that's cunning and sweet,
And no harp string holds such music
As follows his twinkling feet.
And I ask to be taught and directed
To guide his footsteps aright;
So to live that I may be ready
To walk in sandals of light.
٭ Painting "Summer Landscape with Wandering Children" by Johan Krouthen, 1913.
Tag: From Old Books