I love those little happy things, they seem to me but given,
To mirror on this lower earth, the far-off smiling heaven,
Their blue eyes shining ever bright like violets steep’d in dew.
Their looks of angel innocence—who’d not believe them true?
The echo of the merry laugh, so full of heartfelt glee,
The very revelry of joy, untameable, and free;
The little feet that almost seem to scorn our mother earth,
But ever, ever lisping on in frolic, and in mirth.
Oh! how we look on them, and think of all our childhood’s hours,
When we were sunny-hearted too, and wander’d among flowers,