On to the goal securely crept, While puss, unknowing, soundly slept. The bets were won, the hare awake, 66 THE BOY AND THE RING-DOVE. A GIDDY boy, intent on play, With triumph sparkling in his eyes, Ye gay, who sport with satire's darts, And see the havock ye The shaft at others bosoms thrown THE ATHEIST AND THE ACORN. "METHINKS this world is oddly made, 6.6 Behold," quoth he, "that mighty thing, "A pumpkin, large and round, "Is held but by a little string, "Which upwards cannot make it spring, "Or bear it from the ground; "Whilst on this oak, a fruit so small, "Its ill contrivance knows. "My better judgment would have hung - That weight upon a tree; "And left this mast thus slightly strung "Mongst things that on the surface sprung, "And small and feeble be." No more the caviller could say, Th' offending part with tears ran o'er, Fool! had that bough a pumpkin bore, THE EMMETS. THESE emmets, how little they are in our eyes! We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies, Without our regard or concern: Yet as wise as we are, if we went to their school, There's many a sluggard and many a fool Some lessons of wisdom might learn. They don't wear their time out in sleeping or play, But gather up corn in a sun-shiny day," And for winter they lay up their stores: They manage their work in such regular forms, One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the storms, And so brought their food within doors. But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant, When death or old age shall stare me in my face, Now, now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom, Let me think what will serve me when sickness shall come, And pray that my sins be forgiv❜n: Let me read in good books, and believe, and obey, That, when Death turns me out of this cottage of clay, I may dwell in a palace in heav'n. THE SLUGGARD.-Watts. "Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him com plain, "You have wak'd me too soon, I must slumber. As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, head. "A little more sleep, and a little more slumber;" Thus he wastes half his days and his hours without number; And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands, Or walks about saunt'ring, or trifling he stands. I pass'd by his garden, and saw the wild brier, The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher; The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags; And his money still wastes, 'till he starves or he begs. I made him a visit, still hoping to find He had taken more care in improving his mind: He told me his dreams, talk'd of eating and drinking, But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking. Said I then to my heart, "Here's a lesson for me; "That man's but a picture of what I might be : "But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, "Who taught me betimes to love working and reading." |