The Youngest

LITTLE rider where the trails are steep,
Little gazer from the hills above,
Little wanderer where the woods are deep
Over the roads I love.

Little dreamer on the gusty knoll,
Little listener where the dark trees blow,
— Pines with voices like a human soul —
Those are the woods I know.

Little reader in the firelight,
Little sleeper at a lonely mine,
Little one! I long for thee to-night
And for my home, and thine.