ADDRESS TO LITTLE CHILDREN by DAVID MACBETH MOIR

I.

AH, little children! if ye knew
How angel eyes, in love,
Look down upon you from the blue
Of the calm skies above,
Ye would be careful what ye do,
And eager to improve.

II.

A joyous host, a countless band,
In robes of snowy white,
Around the Throne, with harp in hand,
Take ever fresh delight,
Young tender souls to their sweet land
To beckon and invite.

III.

They sorrow o'er you suffering,
They smooth your couch of sleep,
In danger's hour they succour bring,
O'er you a watch they keep;
In you, then, 'twere a cruel thing
To make those blest ones weep.

IV.

Each, like yourself, a little child
Once walked this earth beneath,
Saw what you see, and talked and smiled,
Till suddenly came Death,
And churchyard turf was o'er them piled—
Cold clay—devoid of breath.

V.

But all the good went up to God,
To dwell with him for aye;
Their road is now a thornless road,
And bliss is theirs alway;
To golden harps, by Him bestowed,
They carol night and day.

VI.

Brothers and sisters on that coast
Have met to part no more;
Why then should parents, sorrow-tost,
With sighs and tears deplore?
The lost are not for ever lost—
They are but gone before.

VII.

Then keep your hearts from error free:
Down oft they look on you,
Your thoughts they watch, your ways they see,
And joy when you are true;
To think that ye condemned should be,
Would their high bliss subdue.

VIII.

To little children, who are pure,
In thought, and word, and deed,
And shun what might to ill allure,
The Bible hath decreed
A glorious portion, ever sure,
And help in time of need.

IX.

Of themes befitting simple song,
There surely is no dearth,
If we but cast our eyes along
The Sea—the Air—the Earth;
Nor can the verse be reckoned wrong,
Which wakens harmless mirth.

X.

Man has his seasons, and to each
Congenial thoughts pertain,
And pleasures lie in childhood's reach
That life ne'er knows again;
Keep then your white souls, I beseech,
From guilt's polluting stain.

XI.

Creation's charms then doubly fair
Appear; for all is new,
And, in Romance's morning air,
Like diamonds shines the dew,
Balm loads that air, no cloud of care
Dims the serene of blue.

XII.

Then mar not ye God's gracious plan,
But, furthering his intent,
Grow up from Childhood unto Man,
Through cheerful years, well spent;
So shall life's eve be like its dawn,
Serene and innocent.

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