Dear Soul, couldst thou be­come a child
While yet on earth, meek, un­de­filed,
Then God Him­self were ev­er near,
And paradise around thee here.

A child cares naught for gold or gain,
Nor fame nor glo­ry to ob­tain;
In per­fect trust, he ask­eth not
If rich or poor shall be his lot.

He lit­tle recks of dig­ni­ty,
No prince or mo­narch fear­eth he;
Strange that a child so weak and small
Is oft the bold­est of us all!

He hath not skill to ut­ter lies,
His ve­ry soul is in his eyes;
Single his aim in all, and true,
And apt to praise what oth­ers do.

No quest­ions dark his spir­it vex,
No faith­less doubts his soul pe­rplex,
Simply from day to day he lives,
Content with what the present gives.

Scarce can he stand alone, far less
Would roam abroad in lone­li­ness;
Fast cling­ing to his mo­ther still,
She bears and leads him at her will.

He will not stay to pause and choose,
His Fa­ther’s guid­ance e’er re­fuse,
Thinks not of dan­ger, fears no harm,
Wrapt in obe­dience’s ho­ly calm.

For strange con­cerns he car­eth naught;
What oth­ers do, although were wrought
Before his eyes the worst of­fense,
Stains not his tran­quil in­no­cence.

His dear­est work, his best de­light,
Is ly­ing in his mo­ther’s sight,
To gaze for­ev­er on her face,
And nes­tle in her fond em­brace.

O child­hood’s in­no­cence! the voice
Of thy deep wis­dom is my choice!
Who hath thy lore is truly wise,
And pre­cious in our Fa­ther’s eyes.

Blest child­hood spir­it! loved of God,
By Jesu’s Spir­it now be­stowed;
How oft­en have I longed for thee;
O Jesus, form Thy­self in me!

And help me to be­come a child
While yet on earth, meek, un­de­filed,
That I may find God al­ways near,
And pa­ra­dise around me here.

`