by George MacDonald
A fresh young voice that sings to me
So often many a simple thing,
Should surely not unanswered be
By all that I can sing.
Dear voice, be happy every way
A thousand changing tones among,
From little child's unfinished lay
To angel's perfect song.
In dewy woods-fair, soft, and green
Like morning woods are childhood's bower-
Be like the voice of brook unseen
Among the stones and flowers;
A joyful voice though born so low,
And making all its neighbours glad;
Sweet, hidden, constant in its flow
Even when the winds are sad.
So, strengthen in a peaceful home,
And daily deeper meanings bear;
And when life's wildernesses come
Be brave and faithful there.
Try all the glorious magic range,
Worship, forgive, console, rejoice,
Until the last and sweetest change-
So live and grow, dear voice.