Go, little book, and to the young and kind,
Speak thou of pleasant hours and lovely things,
Of fields and woods; of sunshine; dew and wind
Of mountains, valleys, and of river-springs;
Speak thou of every little bird that sings;
Of every bright, sweet-scented flower that blows;
But chiefest speak of Him whose mercy flings
Beauty and love abroad, and who bestows
Light to the sun alike, with odor to the rose.

My little book, that hast been unto me
Even as a flower reared in a pleasant place,
This is the task that I impose on thee; —
Go forth; with serious style or playful grace,
Winning young, gentle hearts; and bid them trace
With thee, the spirit of Love through earth and air
On beast and bird, and on our mortal race,
So, do thy gracious work; and onward fare,
Leaving, like angel-guest, a blessing everywhere!