From the Rock Island Argus, May 12, 1913. By S. E. Kiser. The little boy whom you forget To play with when the days are fair The child whose hopes are sinless yet Who kneels to lisp his evening prayer Will soon leave off his childish ways And learn the things that men must learn; Why do you waste the precious days That never, never can return? You never lead him by the hand Nor make his little joys your own Ambition sends you her command And he is left to play alone; He never climbs upon your knee Delighted at the long day’s end To find that you have time to be His fond and sympathetic friend. You never can afford to waste A precious hour arousing him The prizes after which you haste Are always far away and dim; You must be ever pressing on Forgetting, while you strive and plan How soon his childhood will be gone How quickly he will be a man. You never pause with him to hear The breeze that sings among the reeds You have no time to give the dear Sweet sympathy for which he pleads; You never rush with him in wild Pursuit of fairies through the glen Yourself again a careless child Freed from the cares that worry men. Have you no treasured memories Of one who gladly played with you Before you had been robbed of ease And when your cares were small and few? Ah, will you rob him of the joy Of looking back along the years When he has ceased to be a boy And Duty’s call rings in his ears? The little boy whom you forget To play with when the days are fair The child whose thoughts are sinless yet Who kneels to lisp his evening prayer Will soon leave off his childish ways And you will sit somewhere alone Regretting precious wasted days And joys that might have been your own.