The Sun of Childhood tender
Illumes the long white way
With touch of rosy splendor,
All in the dawn of day.
And ever as he passes,
And through the forest runs,
He lights on leaves and grasses,
A thousand little suns.
And, like a gleaming river
That to the sea descends,
The long white road runs ever
To where the Rainbow ends
The bee his small wings closes,
And makes his sweet abode,
Within the hearts of roses
That bloom beside the road.
And Spring’s wise little lady,
The Primrose, opes her eyne,
And keeps in places shady
Her golden lamps ashine.
The birds, with sunlight sheening
Their throats, sing all a-row,
A song whose mystic meaning
Only the children know.
It tells of strange lands under
The Sunset, strange and fair,
And of the World of Wonder
Above the Rainbow Stair.
It tells of how To-Morrow
Will bring a shining sheaf
Of joys without a sorrow,
Of hours without a grief.
So, with clear voices ringing,
And posies in their hands,
The children journey singing
Unto the Wonder Lands.