LOVE'S WAY TO CHILDHOOD

We are not lovers, you and I,

Upon this sunny lane,

But children who have never known

Love's joy or pain.

The trees we pass, the summer brook,

The bird that o'er us darts —

We do not know‘ tis they that thrill

Our childish hearts.

The earth-things have no name for us,

The ploughing means no more

Than that they like to walk the fields

Who plough them o'er.

The road, the wood, the heaven, the hills

Are not a World to-day —

But just a place God's made for us

In which to play.