ALL ye child-hearted ones, born out of time,
Born to an age that sickens and grows old,
Born in a tragic moment, dark and cold,
Fair blossoms opening in an alien clime,
Young hearts and warm, spring forward to your prime,
But lose not that child-spirit glad and bold
Which claims its heirship to the tender fold
Of parent arms, and with a trust sublime,
Smiles in Death's face if only Love be near;
Oh worshipful young hearts that love can move,
And loveless loneliness contract with fear,
Hold fast the sacred instincts which approve
A fatherhood divine, that clear child-eyes
May light the groping progress of the wise.