The Patter of Little Feet

Up with the sun in the morning,
Away to the garden he hies,
To see if the sleeping blossoms,
Have begun to open their eyes.

Running a race with the wind,
With a step as light and fleet,
Under my window I hear
The patter of little feet.

Now to the brook he wanders,
In swift and noiseless flight,
Splashing the sparkling ripples
Like a fairy water-sprite.

His heart is a charmed casket,
Full of all that's cunning and sweet,
And no harp string holds such music
As follows his twinkling feet.

And I ask to be taught and directed
To guide his footsteps aright;
So to live that I may be ready
To walk in sandals of light.


٭ Poem by Margaret Elizabeth Sangster (1838 – 1912).
# Painting "Summer Landscape with Wandering Children" by Johan Krouthen, 1913.


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