Radiant with his spirit light,
Was the happy little child,
Sporting round a fountain bright,
Playing through the flowerets wild.
Where they grew he lightly stepped,
Cautious not a leaf to crush ;
Then about the fount he leaped,
Shouting at its merry gush.
While the sparkling waters welled,
Laughing as they bubbled up,
In his lily hand he held,
Closely clasped, a silver cup.
Now he put it forth to fill;
Then he bore it to the flowers,
Through his fingers there to spill
What it held, in mimic showers.
“Open, pretty buds,” said he,
“Open to the air and sun ;
So to-morrow I may see
What my rain to-day has done.
Yes, you will, you will, I know,
For the drink I give you now,
Burst your little cups, and blow,
When I’m gone, and can’t tell how.
” Oh ! I wish I could but see
How God’s finger touches you,
When your sides unclasp, and free,
Let the spice and petals through.
I would watch you all the night ;
Nor in darkness be afraid,
Only once to see aright
How a beauteous flower is made.
” Now remember, I shall come
In the morning, from my bed,
Here to find among you, some
With your brightest colors spread !”
To his buds he hastened out
At the dewy morning hour,
Crying with a joyous shout,
” God has made of each a flower !”
Precious must the ready faith
Of the little children be,
In the sight of Him who saith,
“Suffer them to come to me.”
Answered by the smile of Heaven
Is the infant’s offering found,
Though ” a cup of water given,”
Even to the thirsty ground !