Charles Lamb — Parental Recollections

A child's a plaything for an hour; Its pretty tricks we try For that or for a longer space; Then tire, and lay it by But I knew one, that to itself All seasons could controul; That would have mock'd the sense of pain Out of a grieved soul Thou, straggler into loving arms Young climber up of knees When I forget thy thousand ways Then life and all shall cease