As I marched out one day in Spring, Proud of my life and power — I saw an infant, all alone, Kissing a small, red flower. He looked at me with solemn eyes, As only children can, And — in a voice that might be God's — He called distinctly — 'Man!' Though I had been the Pope of Rome, Our English King or Heir, A child has called in God's own way, And I have answered — 'Here!' |