THE HEART of a child is a scroll,
A page that is lovely and white;
And to it, as fleeting years roll,
Come hands with a story to write--
A story of laughter and mirth,
A story of sorrow and tears,
Of love that encircles the earth,
Or sin that embitters the years.
Be ever so careful, O hand;
Write thou with a sanctified pen.
Thy story shall live in the land
For years in the doings of men.
It shall echo in circles of light,
Or lead to the death of a soul.
Grave here but a message of right,
For the heart of a child is a scroll.
[Illustration of a mother looking at an infant cradled in her arms.
Backdrop is an unrolled scroll, feather pen, and inkwell. Infant’s
shadow is cast onto the blank scroll.]