The Play‑Ground.

When painfully athwart my brain

Dark thoughts come crowding on,

And, sick of worldly hollowness,

My heart feels sad and lone—

                  ———

Then out upon the green I walk,

Just ere the close of day,

And swift I ween the sight I view

Clears all my gloom away.—

                  ———

For there [are merry?] children, the village children come—

The cheeriest things on earth,

I see them play—I hear their tones

Of loud and reckless mirth.—

                  ———

And many a clear and flute‑like laugh

Comes _^Flies ringing through the air;

And many a roguish flashing eye,

And rich red cheek are there.—

                  ———

O, lovely, happy children!

I am with you in my soul:

I shout—I strike the ball with you—

With you I race and roll.—

                  ———

Methinks, white‑winged angels,

Floating unseen the while,

Hover around this village green,

And pleasantly they smile.

O, angels! guard these children!

Keep grief and guilt away:

From worldly harm—from evil thoughts—

O shield them night and day—!