HOW should the heart of a little child be?

As pure as the lily that blooms on the lea,

As clear as the dews from the heavens that fall,

As true as the mirror that hangs on the wall,

As fresh as the fountain, as gay as the lark

That trills out its song 'twixt the day and the dark,

As glad as the angels when, soaring, they fly

On the bright wings of love to their home in the sky.