But nought can tempt the timid things The steep and rugged paths to try, Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings, And seared below the pastures lie,--

Till in his arms their lambs he takes Along the dizzy verge to go, Then heedless of the rifts and breaks They follow on o'er rock and snow.

And in those pastures lifted fair, More dewy soft than lowland mead, The shepherd drops his tender care, And sheep and lambs together feed.

MARIA LOWELL.

LITTLE LAMB.

Little lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Gave thee life and made thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight,-- Softest clothing, woolly, bright?

Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice; Little lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Little lamb, I'll tell thee; Little lamb, I'll tell thee; He is callen by thy name, For he calls himself a lamb.

He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child.

I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name.

Little lamb, G.o.d bless thee!

Little lamb, G.o.d bless thee!

WILLIAM BLAKE.

COWPER'S HARE.

Well--one at least is safe. One sheltered hare Has never heard the sanguinary yell Of cruel man, exulting in her woes.

Innocent partner of my peaceful home, Whom ten long years' experience of my care Has made at last familiar, she has lost Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine.

Yes--thou mayst eat thy bread, and lick the hand That feeds thee; thou mayst frolic on the floor At evening, and at night retire secure To thy straw-couch, and slumber unalarmed; For I have gained thy confidence, have pledged All that is human in me to protect Thine unsuspecting grat.i.tude and love.

If I survive thee I will dig thy grave, And when I place thee in it, sighing say, I knew at least one hare that had a friend.

COWPER.

TURN THY HASTY FOOT ASIDE.

Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside, Nor crush that helpless worm!

The frame thy wayward looks deride Required a G.o.d to form.

The common lord of all that move, From whom thy being flowed, A portion of his boundless love On that poor worm bestowed.

Let them enjoy their little day, Their humble bliss receive; Oh! do not lightly take away The life thou canst not give!

T. GISBORNE.

THE WORM TURNS.

I've despised you, old worm, for I think you'll admit That you never were beautiful even in youth; I've impaled you on hooks, and not felt it a bit; But all's changed now that Darwin has told us the truth Of your diligent life, and endowed you with fame: You begin to inspire me with kindly regard.

I have friends of my own, clever worm, I could name, Who have ne'er in their lives been at work half so hard.

It appears that we owe you our acres of soil, That the garden could never exist without you, That from ages gone by you were patient in toil, Till a Darwin revealed all the good that you do.

Now you've turned with a vengeance, and all must confess Your behavior should make poor humanity squirm; For there's many a man on this planet, I guess, Who is not half so useful as you, Mister worm.

PUNCH.

GRa.s.sHOPPER AND CRICKET.

Green little vaulter in the sunny gra.s.s, Catching your heart up at the feet of June, Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, Whenever the bees lag at the summoning bra.s.s; And you, warm little housekeeper, who cla.s.s With those who think the candles come too soon, Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune Nicks the glad silent moments as they pa.s.s.

O sweet and tidy cousins, that belong One to the fields, the other to the hearth, Both have your sunshine: both, though small, are strong At your clear hearts; and both seem given to earth To ring in thoughtful ears this natural song-- Indoors and out, summer and winter, Mirth.

LEIGH HUNT.

THE HONEY-BEES.

Therefore doth Heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavor in continual motion; To which is fixed, as an aim or b.u.t.t, Obedience: for so work the honey-bees; Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom.

They have a king and officers of sorts: Where some, like magistrates, correct at home; Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent royal of their emperor: Who, busied in his majesty, surveys THE SINGING MASONS BUILDING ROOFS OF GOLD; The civil citizens kneading up the honey; The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate; The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to the executioner's pale The lazy, yawning drone.

SHAKESPEARE: _Henry V._, Act 1, Sc. 2.

CUNNING BEE.

Said a little wandering maiden To a bee with honey laden, "Bee, at all the flowers you work, Yet in some does poison lurk."

"That I know, my little maiden,"

Said the bee with honey laden; "But the poison I forsake, And the honey only take."

"Cunning bee with honey laden, That is right," replied the maiden; "So will I, from all I meet, Only draw the good and sweet."

ANON.

AN INSECT.

Only an insect; yet I know It felt the sunlight's golden glow, And the sweet morning made it glad With all the little heart it had.