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| BLESSINGS on thee, little man, | |
| Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! | |
| With thy turned-up pantaloons, | |
| And thy merry whistled tunes; | |
| With thy red lip, redder still | 5 |
| Kissed by strawberries on the hill; | |
| With the sunshine on thy face, | |
| Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace; | |
| From my heart I give thee joy,— | |
| I was once a barefoot boy! | 10 |
| Prince thou art,—the grown-up man | |
| Only is republican. | |
| Let the million-dollared ride! | |
| Barefoot, trudging at his side, | |
| Thou hast more than he can buy | 15 |
| In the reach of ear and eye,— | |
| Outward sunshine, inward joy: | |
| Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! | |
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| Oh for boyhood’s painless play, | |
| Sleep that wakes in laughing day, | 20 |
| Health that mocks the doctor’s rules, | |
| Knowledge never learned of schools, | |
| Of the wild bee’s morning chase, | |
| Of the wild-flower’s time and place, | |
| Flight of fowl and habitude | 25 |
| Of the tenants of the wood; | |
| How the tortoise bears his shell, | |
| How the woodchuck digs his cell, | |
| And the ground-mole sinks his well; | |
| How the robin feeds her young, | 30 |
| How the oriole’s nest is hung; | |
| Where the whitest lilies blow, | |
| Where the freshest berries grow, | |
| Where the ground-nut trails its vine, | |
| Where the wood-grape’s clusters shine; | 35 |
| Of the black wasp’s cunning way, | |
| Mason of his walls of clay, | |
| And the architectural plans | |
| Of gray hornet artisans! | |
| For, eschewing books and tasks, | 40 |
| Nature answers all he asks; | |
| Hand in hand with her he walks, | |
| Face to face with her he talks, | |
| Part and parcel of her joy,— | |
| Blessings on the barefoot boy! | 45 |
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| Oh for boyhood’s time of June, | |
| Crowding years in one brief moon, | |
| When all things I heard or saw, | |
| Me, their master, waited for. | |
| I was rich in flowers and trees, | 50 |
| Humming-birds and honey-bees; | |
| For my sport the squirrel played, | |
| Plied the snouted mole his spade; | |
| For my taste the blackberry cone | |
| Purpled over hedge and stone; | 55 |
| Laughed the brook for my delight | |
| Through the day and through the night, | |
| Whispering at the garden wall, | |
| Talked with me from fall to fall; | |
| Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, | 60 |
| Mine the walnut slopes beyond, | |
| Mine, on bending orchard trees, | |
| Apples of Hesperides! | |
| Still as my horizon grew, | |
| Larger grew my riches too; | 65 |
| All the world I saw or knew | |
| Seemed a complex Chinese toy, | |
| Fashioned for a barefoot boy! | |
| Oh for festal dainties spread, | |
| Like my bowl of milk and bread; | 70 |
| Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, | |
| On the door-stone, gray and rude! | |
| O’er me, like a regal tent, | |
| Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, | |
| Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, | 75 |
| Looped in many a wind-swung fold; | |
| While for music came the play | |
| Of the pied frogs’ orchestra; | |
| And, to light the noisy choir, | |
| Lit the fly his lamp of fire. | 80 |
| I was monarch: pomp and joy | |
| Waited on the barefoot boy! | |
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| Cheerily, then, my little man, | |
| Live and laugh, as boyhood can! | |
| Though the flinty slopes be hard, | 85 |
| Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, | |
| Every morn shall lead thee through | |
| Fresh baptisms of the dew; | |
| Every evening from thy feet | |
| Shall the cool wind kiss the heat: | 90 |
| All too soon these feet must hide | |
| In the prison cells of pride, | |
| Lose the freedom of the sod, | |
| Like a colt’s for work be shod, | |
| Made to treat the mills of toil, | 95 |
| Up and down in ceaseless moil: | |
| Happy if their track be found | |
| Never on forbidden ground; | |
| Happy if they sink not in | |
| Quick and treacherous sands of sin. | 100 |
| Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, | |
| Ere it passes, barefoot boy! | |
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