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
