THE CHILDREN.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 967, 16 March 1911, Page 4

THE CHILDREN.

[This poem was found in the desk of Charles Dickens after his death.]

When lessons and tasks are all ended And the school for the day is dismissed, And the little ones gather around me To bid me “Good night/’ and be kissed. Oh, the little white arms that encircle My neck in a tender embrace ; Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, Shedding sunshine and love on ray face. And when they are gone, I sit dreaming Of my childhood, too lovely to last; Of love, that my heart will remember When it wakes to the pulse of the past; Ere the world and its wickedness made me A partner of sorrow and sin, When the glory of God was about me, And the glory of gladness within. Oh, my head grows weak as a woman’s, And the fountains of feelings will flow, When I think of the paths, steep and stony. Where the feet of the dear ones must go; Of the mountains of sin hanging o’er them, Of the tempests of late blowing wild, Oh, there’s nothing on earth so holy As the innocent heart of a child. They are idols of hearts and of households, They are angels of God in disguise ; His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses— His glory still beams in their eyes. Oh, those truants from earth and from heaven. They have made me more manly and mild, And I know now how Jesus could liken The Kingdom of God to a child. Seek not a life for the dear ones All radiant, as others have done ; But that life may have just as much shadow, To temper the glare of the sun. I would pray God to guard them from evil, But my prayer would bound back to myself; Ah! a seraph may pray for a sinner, But a sinner must pray for himself.

The twig is so easily bended, I have banished the rule and the rod, I have taught them the goodness of knowledge; They have taught me the goodness of God. My heart is a dungeon of darkness, Where I shut them from breaking a rule, My frown is sufficient correction, My love is the law of the school. I shall leave the old home in the autumn To traverse its threshold no more; Ah! how I shall sigh for the dear ones That meet me each morn at the door. I shall miss the “good nights ” and the kisses, And the gush of their innocent glee— The groups on the green, and the flowers That are brought every morning to me. I shall miss them at morn and at even, Their song in the school and the street; I shall miss the low hum of their voices, And the tramp of their delicate feet. When the lessons and tasks are all ended, And death says the school is dismissed. May the little ones gather around me, And bid me “ good night ” and be kissed.