Too soon will teach them what poor mortals are.
Yes! let them play, but as their thoughts expand,
May smiling pity lead them by the hand,
When they look up, and in the clouds admire
The lessening shaft of that aërial spire,
So be their thoughts uplifted from the sod,
Where time’s brief flowers they gather to their God.
W. Lisle Bowles.
This cottage door, this gentle gale,
Hay-scented, whispering round,