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Le Gargon qui Rit.
LE GARCON QUI RIT. By Wendell P. Stafford.
to this, my little boy, H ASAn lifeunderflow of hidden joy? Often, the house in silence deep, I hear him laughing in his sleep. It is a happy, gurgling sound, As if the river of his dream Had overleaped the silver bound That broke the tenor of its stream, — Had sparkled in the sun, and then Glided away in shade again. Laugh on, unheeding, not unheard, Like some unseen, untroubled bird That sings his song and never knows What hearts are lightened as it flows. Thank God for laughter! Later years That thank Him for the gift of tears Shall hold the boons of equal worth, And bless Him for the gift of mirth.
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