Toward God in heaven spacious <br />With artless faith a boy looks free, <br />As toward his mother gracious, <br />And top of Christmas-tree. <br />But early in the storm of youth <br />There wounds him deep the serpent's tooth; <br />His childhood's faith is doubted <br />And flouted. <br /> <br />Soon stands in radiant splendor <br />With bridal wreath his boyhood's dream; <br />Her loving eyes and tender <br />The light of heaven's faith stream. <br />As by his mother's knee of yore <br />God's name he stammers yet once more, <br />The rue of tears now paying <br />And praying. <br /> <br />When now life's conflict stirring <br />Leads him along through doubtings wild, <br />Then upward points unerring <br />Close by his side his child. <br />With children he a child is still <br />And whatsoe'er his heart may chill, <br />Prayer for his son is warming, <br />Transforming. <br /> <br />The greatest man in wonder <br />Must ward the child within his breast, <br />And list 'mid loudest thunder <br />Its whisperings unrepressed. <br />Where oft a hero fell with shame, <br />The child it was restored his name, <br />His better self revealing, <br />And healing. <br /> <br />All great things thought created <br />In child-like joy sprang forth and grew; <br />All strength with goodness mated, <br />Obeyed the child's voice true. <br />When beauty in the soul held sway, <br />The child gave it in artless play;- <br />All wisdom worldly-minded <br />Is blinded. <br /> <br />Hail him, who forward presses <br />So far that he a home is worth <br />For there alone possesses <br />The child-life peace on earth. <br />Though worn we grieve and hardened grow, <br />What solace 't is our home to know <br />With children's laughter ringing <br />And singing.<br /><br />Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-child-in-our-soul/
