SPORTING through the forest wide; 

Playing by the waterside; 

Wandering o'er the healthy fells, 

Down within the woodland dells; 

All among the mountains wild 

Dwelleth many a little child. 

In the Baron's hall of pride, 

By the poor man's dull fireside; 

'Mid the mighty, mid the mean, 

Little children may be seen, 

Like the flowers that spring up fair, 

Bright and countless, everywhere. 

In the fair isles of the main; 

In the desert's lone domain; 

In the savage mountain glen, 

'Mong the tribes of swarthy men; 

Wheresoe'er a foot hath gone, 

Wheresoe'er the sun bath shone 

On a league of peopled ground, 

Little children may be found. 

Blessings on them! They in me 

Move a kindly sympathy, 

With their wishes, hopes, and fears; 

With their laughter and their tears; 

With their wonder so intense, 

And their small experience. 

Little children, not alone 

On the wide earth are you known. 

'Mid its labors and its cares, 

'Mid its suffering and its snares; 

Free from sorrow, free from strife, 

In the world of love' and life, 

Where no sinful thing hath trod, 

In the presence of your God, 

Spotless! Blameless, glorified, 

Little children, ye abide. 

—Mary Hozoitt.