A child's a plaything for an hour; br Its pretty tricks we try br For that or for a longer space; br Then tire, and lay it by. br br br But I knew one that to itself br All seasons could control; br That would have mocked the sense of pain br Out of a grievëd soul. br br br Thou straggler into loving arms, br Young climber up of knees, br When I forget thy thousand ways, br Then life and all shall cease.