Her heart knew naught of sorrow, <br />Nor the vaguest taint of sin-- <br />'Twas an ever-blooming blossom <br />Of the purity within: <br />And her hands knew only touches <br />Of the mother's gentle care, <br />And the kisses and caresses <br />Through the interludes of prayer. <br /> <br />Her baby-feet had journeyed <br />Such a little distance here, <br />They could have found no briers <br />In the path to interfere; <br />The little cross she carried <br />Could not weary her, we know, <br />For it lay as lightly on her <br />As a shadow on the snow. <br /> <br />And yet the way before us-- <br />O how empty now and drear!-- <br />How ev'n the dews of roses <br />Seem as dripping tears for her! <br />And the song-birds all seem crying, <br />As the winds cry and the rain, <br />All sobbingly,--'We want--we want <br />Our little girl again!'<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-little-girl/
