Poetry

 
Except ye be converted and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven."
Dear soul, couldst thou become a child
While yet on earth, meek, undefiled,
Then God Himself were ever near,
And Paradise around thee here.
A child cares naught for gold or treasure,
Nor fame nor glory yield him pleasure;
In perfect trust, he asketh not
If rich or poor shall be his lot.
Little he reeks of dignity,
Nor prince nor monarch feareth he.
Strange that a child so weak and small
Is oft the boldest of us all l