O'er wood and stream I muse with tenderness,
Of birds and flowers a grandfather no less.
I pity feel for all the things that are,
And bid the children even roses spare.
Scare neither plant nor animal, I say;
Laugh without frightening, without harming play.
Jeanne and her brother George, pure browed, bright eyed,
Sparkle amid the flowers expanding wide.
Harmless I wander in this paradise.
I hear them sing, and musing thoughts arise;
In their glad games how little heed they take
Of the sad sound the turning pages make
Of Fate's mysterious volume. From the priest
How far they are, how near to Jesus Christ.

From L'Art D'etre Grandpere