The Barefoot Boy

My precious son,

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,

With sunshine on thy face, . . .

For, eschewing books and tasks,

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!

John Greenleaf Whittier