From a childish throng,

Sweet as bird voice after

Daybreak is your song.

Racing down the mountain

On your shining feet,

Waltzing at the fountain

To its love song sweet.

On and on you travel,

Leaving me behind,

Like a silken ravel

With the weeds you wind.

Laughing at distresses;

Braving battles, too;

Who your trouble guesses,

And your sorrow—who?

Tell me as you hurry

Through the stubble field,

Why not stop to worry—

But no frown’s revealed.

Sometime you must weary

Of this constant strife;

When the clouds are dreary,

Tire you not of life?

Of the dead leaves drifted

On your saddened face,

And the snow flakes sifted

From the cloudland place?

Yet you ne’er repineth,

But alike content

With the sun that shineth,

Teach me half the beauty

That your heart must know,

And through fields of duty

Like you, will I go.