Poetry Archives

Sometime there ben a lyttel boy
  That wolde not renne and play,
And helpless like that little tyke
  Ben allwais in the way.
“Goe, make you merrie with the rest,”
  His weary moder cried;
But with a frown he catcht her gown
  And hong untill her side.

That boy did love his moder well,
  Which spake him faire, I ween;
He loved to stand and hold her hand
  And ken her with his een;
His cosset bleated in the croft,
  His toys unheeded lay,—
He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe,
  Ben allwais in the way.

Godde loveth children and doth gird
  His throne with soche as these,
And He doth smile in plaisaunce while
  They cluster at His knees;
And sometime, when He looked on earth
  And watched the bairns at play,
He kenned with joy a lyttel boy
  Ben allwais in the way.

And then a moder felt her heart
  How that it ben to-torne,—
She kissed eche day till she ben gray
  The shoon he used to worn;
No bairn let hold untill her gown,
  Nor played upon the floore,—
Godde’s was the joy; a lyttel boy
  Ben in the way no more!