Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/42



OME time there ben a lyttel boy That wolde not renne and play, And helpless like that little tyke Ben allwais in the way. "Goe, make you merrie with the rest," His weary moder cried; But with a frown lie catcht her gown And hong untill her side.

That boy did love his moder well, Which spake him faire, I ween; He loved to stand and hold her hand And ken her with his een; His cosset bleated in the croft, His toys unheeded lay,— He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe, Ben allwais in the way.

Godde loveth children and doth gird His throne with soche as these, And he doth smile in plaisaunce while They cluster at his knees;