She does not know that rooms are bleak and bare,
That poverty dwells with us all the while;
It is enough for her that I am there
To praise her little deeds, to sing and smile.
She does not know that heartache hovers near
Above the place where lie her dolls asleep,
That eyes grow wide and dark with naked fear
And life seems such a tired trust to keep.
Sunlight to her is earth's most precious gold,
Daisies and buttercups are jewels rare,
A clump of mignonette is wealth untold,
Her crown a wreath of flowers in her hair.
No banquet hall in all the bounteous land
Has half the glory of a picnic spread
Out on a shining beach, with sun and sand,
Wind in her face, and seagulls overhead.
Oh, may our hearts be glad for common things,
Whitecaps at sea and tattered driftwood piled,
Finding in these the peace that Heaven brings.
Grant us the simple wisdom of a child.