My fairy girl, amidst her mirthful play, <br />Suddenly kneeling, clasps her hands in one, <br />And prays the words she has been taught to pray <br />Morning and evening; when her prayer is done, <br />In calm, as though some Mighty One was near, <br />Who soothed her, but not awed, away she springs, <br />And runs to me with laughter silver--clear, <br />Till all our home with her full joyance rings. <br />Nor am I one who, with displeasure cold, <br />Such sport would chide; our heavenly Father's face <br />Each night and day her angel doth behold: <br />Her soul is filled with his baptismal grace; <br />Happy, if through her years and cares untold, <br />Such pure communion could her spirit hold.<br /><br />Henry Alford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxxxvi-januarry-19-1839/
