The Lyttel Boy

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!