What joy is ours! priceless wealth,
Earth's gold can never buy.

She makes us cast aside our book,
Though filled with learning rare;
To work is vain, when fun's arch look
Those beaming features wear.

Whence is this spell? I can but think
That, in sweet childhood's hour,
E'er yet the soul has learned to drink
From knowledge' fount of power;

Or felt what virtue is, or known
Life's sins, not yet begun;
Or seen how thick life's path is strown
With dangers it must shun;

A spirit pure doth come, to dwell
In these fresh-bursting minds,
Who weaves round them the powerful spell
Our hearts so firmly binds;

Our holier thoughts through them to wake;
Our earth-dimmed vision clear;
And through _their_ purity, to make
_All_ holy things more dear.

If so, where speeds that spirit, when
The soul has gathered strength--