On the city's summer sidewalks
a lad skips merry and carefree.
Each day a picture in bright chalks
from heaven hangs for none save he.
Each stranger passed is friend denied
tho' he dare not pause delight.
No pleasantries can he abide;
joy's torrent shrouds the child's sight.
Nor books, nor chores stir his happy hands
that deftly fly the soaring kite,
'Tho when time slips its silent sands
they flail--they quake--with fearful might.
When with his shadow of long days
both fade to gray before lone night--
They scold their stars for foolish ways,
and tearful make their homeward flight.
To hear these songs yet being played
Discords the souls these discords made.
