O littlest hands and dearest,
O golden heads and bright,
From out what dear dream country
Come you to me to-night?
For through the shadows falling
I hear your voices calling
Out of the magic spaces
Of infinite delight.
I see your curls a-glimmer,
I see your dear eyes shine,
I feel the childish fingers
Slipped softly into mine;
You bring me back the May-time,
The old, delightful play-time
When all the world was laughter
And life seemed half divine.
Thus, from the shades that gather
Around my path to-night
Your glad child-hands have drawn me
Back to your lands of light,
Giving me for my sadness
The medicine of your gladness,
O littlest hands and dearest,
O golden heads and bright.