Childhood

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Childhood, sweet and sunny childhood, 
With its careless, thoughtless air, 
Like the verdant, tangled wildwood, 
Wants the training hand of care. 

See it springing all around us -- 
Glad to know, and quick to learn; 
Asking questions that confound us; 
Teaching lessons in its turn. 

Who loves not its joyous revel, 
Leaping lightly on the lawn, 
Up the knoll, along the level, 
Free and graceful as a fawn? 

Let it revel; it is nature 
Giving to the little dears 
Strength of limb, and healthful features, 
For the toil of coming years. 

He who checks a child with terror, 
Stops its play, and stills its song, 
Not alone commits an error, 
But a great and moral wrong. 

Give it play, and never fear it -- 
Active life is no defect; 
Never, never break its spirit -- 
Curb it only to direct. 

Would you dam the flowing river, 
Thinking it would cease to flow? 
Onward it must go forever -- 
Better teach it where to go. 

Childhood is a fountain welling, 
Trace its channel in the sand, 
And its currents, spreading, swelling, 
Will revive the withered land. 

Childhood is the vernal season; 
Trim and train the tender shoot; 
Love is to the coming reason, 
As the blossom to the fruit. 

Tender twigs are bent and folded -- 
Art to nature beauty lends; 
Childhood easily is moulded; 
Manhood breaks, but seldom bends. 

David Bates