And gently led them by the crystal streamlets,
Bade them on dewdrops feast,
And showed them where the silver moon was rising
To light them from the east.
Alas! when all the little demons saw her,
The moon, so large and round,
They all began to roar, and growl, and gibber,
And leap from off the ground;
And mocked the great white moon with ugly faces,
Turned somersaults in air,
And when the angels prayed them cease, in terror,
They vowed they did not care.
They trampled down the grass in Heaven's Meadow,
They tore the flowers about,
And flung them on the earth beyond the paling,
With gibe, and jeer, and shout.
They chased the birds that sang among the tree-tops
And hushed their music sweet,
They pulled the little angels' tender feathers
And trod upon their feet.
Then to the good St. Peter cried the angels
To help them in their pain,
And if he would but this one time forgive them,
They would be good again.
Then rose St. Peter from his peaceful dreaming--
An angry saint was he--
He wrung his hands and clasped his head in horror,
And seized his golden key.
Then blew a mighty blast in wrath upon it;
Back all the angels flew,
And wide he threw the door of heaven open,
And thrust the children through.
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