POE TRY.
THE CHILDREN. THE children live in heaven all day, And if we watch them as they play Perhaps we may some hint surprise Of secret dealings with the skies.
They dance, they run, they leap, they shout, They fling the torch of joy about : Gay prodigals of golden mirth, They lavish laughter on the earth.
Beneath his ihrining carriage-hood, The baby, small benignant Buddh- Undoubted Deity awhile—
Regards us with mysterious smile.
Their fancy touches common things, The very dust takes fairy wings : The earth is all a box of toys For lucky little girls and boys.
They share our table, use our chairs, With quaint proprietary airs.
The world is theirs : if we behave, They'll give us part of what we gave.
The sun drops low ; the day is done,— Their day of laughter, light, and fun ; With stumbling feet and nodding head, Divinity goes up to bed.
And then in little snowy gown The tired tiny folk lie down, And piping voices, drowsed with sleep, Chirp softly from the pillows deep :— " Ich bin klein, Mein Hers ist rein, Niemand als Jesus allein, Soil wohnen drein."
• • • The children sleep in heaven all night, Then meet the morning with delight, And scamper out upon their way
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