A little sunbeam stole
On a summer's day,
Through a tiny crevice,
To where a sick man lay.
It played upon the wall,
And upon his table:
With a smile he watched it
As long as he was able.
Much he loved the sunbeam,
Little dancing light;
It told of sunny hours,
Of skies and meadows bright.
Kind words are like sunbeams,
Stealing into hearts;
Scatter them most freely,
Ere light of life departs.