"Count that day lost whose low-descending sun,
Views from thy hand no worthy action done."
[THE CHILDREN IN THE MOON.]
Harken, child, unto a story! For the moon is in the sky, And across her shield of silver, See! two tiny cloudlets fly.
Watch them closely, mark them sharply, As across the light they pass,— Seem they not to have the figures Of a little lad and lass?
See, my child, across their shoulders Lies a little pole! and lo! Yonder speck is just the bucket, Swinging softly to and fro.
It is said, these little children, Many and many a Summer night, To a little well far northward Wandered in the still moonlight.
To the wayside well they trotted, Filled their little buckets there, And the Moon-man looking downwards, Saw how beautiful they were.
Quoth the man, "How vexed and sulky Looks the little rosy boy! But the little handsome maiden, Trips behind him full of joy.
To the well behind the hedgerow Trot the little lad and maiden; From the well behind the hedgerow Now the little pail is laden.
How they please me! how they tempt me! Shall I snatch them up to-night? Snatch them, set them here forever, In the middle of my light?
Children, ay, and children's children Should behold my babes on high, And my babes should smile forever, Calling others to the sky?"
Thus the philosophic Moon-man Muttered many years ago, Set the babes with pole and bucket, To delight the folks below.
Never is the bucket empty, Never are the children old; Ever when the moon is shining We the children may behold.
Ever young, and ever little, Ever sweet and ever fair! When thou art a man, my darling, Still the children will be there!
Ever young, and ever little, They will smile when thou art old! When thy locks are thin and silver, Theirs will still be shining gold.
They will haunt you from their heaven, Softly beckoning down the gloom,— Smiling in eternal sweetness On thy cradle, on thy tomb!
