FAIR child of the springtime sleeping low, 

 Under deep banks of the winter's snow, 

Waking, and creeping silently forth, 

While chilling winds still come from the north. 

Ah, who could dream from its cheerful smile, 

Of the hunger and cold it has felt ere while! 

Its pure sweet lips never breathe a word, 

Of the frost king's threat it has felt and heard. 

It whispers no tale of the dreary past— 

Only praise that sunlight has come at last. 

Hidden beneath the sheltering leaves, 

O'er its lowly lot it never grieves. 

A delicate perfume fills the air, 

And the honeybee comes for his share, 

While merry children with bounding feet, 

Bear off its clusters so rare and sweet. 

The dear child faces are so pure uplift, 

As the invalid takes their floral gift, 

And her eyes will moisten, and brighter grow

As they rest on friends of the long ago. 

The weary form feels less of its pain, 

As the joyous past comes back again, 

While the heart renders thanks for the blessings 


"Of such"—children and flowers—"is the kingdom 

Of heaven."