In constancy and nuptial love,
I learn my duty from the dove.
The hen, who from the chilly air,
With pious wing, protects her care,
And ev'ry fowl that flies at large,
Instruct me in a parent's charge.
I have found out a gift for my
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: But let me that plunder forbear!
She would say, 'twas a barbarous deed.
"For he ne'er can be true," she averr'd,
"Who can rob a poor bird of its young ;" And I lov'd her the more, when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
Venerable old age.
Mark that female face,
The faded picture of its former self;
The garments coarse but clean :-frequent at church, I've noted such a one, feeble and pale,
Yet ever with a look of mild content.
She had seen better days; there was a time
Her hands could earn her bread, and freely give
To those who were in want: but now, old age
And ling'ring disease, have made her helpless.
Yet she is happy, ay, and she is wise,
Although her Bible be her only book;
And she is rich, although her only wealth
Be recollection of a well-spent life,
And expectation of the life to come.
The old man's comforts, and how he gained them:
a fuble. "You are old, father William," the young man cried;
"The few locks that are left you, are gray;
You are hale, father William; a hearty old man :
Now tell me the reason, I pray."
"In the days of my youth," father William replied,
"I remember'd that youth would fly fast;
And abus'd not my health. and my vigour at first,
That I never might need them at last."
"You are old, father William," the young man cried, "And pleasures with youth pass away;
And yet you lament not the days that are gone :
Now tell me the reason, I
"In the days of my youth," father William replied,
"I remember'd that youth could not last :
I thought of the future, whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past."
"You are old, father William," the young man cried, "And life must be hast'ning away;
You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death:
Now tell me the reason, I pray."
"I am cheerful, young man," father William replied; "Let the cause thy attention engage :
In the days of my youth, I remember'd my God;
And he hath not forgotten my age."
The bundle of sticks; or, Family union recommended: a fable.
A GOOD old man, who long had lain
Afflicted with disease and pain ;
With difficulty drew his breath,
And felt the near approach of death.
His practice good, his faith was sound:
He built his hope on Scripture ground.
He call'd his children round his bed,
And with a feeble voice he said:
"I must leave you, my children dear;
I well perceive my end is near.
Yet ere from you I'm quite remov'd,
From you whom always I have lov'd;
I wish to give you all my blessing,
And leave with you a useful lesson.
Observe that fagot on the ground,
With twisted hazel firmly bound.
I wish that all of you would take it,
if any one can break it."
Obedient to the good old man,
They all to try their strength began;
And when their labour vain they found,
They threw the fagot on the ground.
Again the good old man proceeded,
To give th' instruction which they needed.
"Untwist," says he, "the hazel bind,
And let the fagot be disjoin'd."
Then stick by stick, and twig by twig,
The little children and the big,
According as their father spoke,
Each sprig and spray they quickly broke.
Then said their sire: ""Twas my intent,
My family to represent.
While you are join'd in friendship's thong,
My dearest children, you'll be strong:
But if by quarrel and dispute,
You undermine affection's root;
And thus the strength'ning cord divide,
Then will my children ill betide.
E'en beasts of prey in bands unite;
And kindly for each other fight:
And shall not Christian children be
Join'd in sweet links of amity?
If separate, you'll each be weak;
Each, like a single stick, will break :
But if you're firm, and true, and hearty,
The world and all its spite can't part ye.
If Christian faith and love combine you,
And sweet affection's cord intwine you,
You need encourage no dejection,
Secure in the DIVINE PROTECTION."
The bee and the ant; or, The advantages of industry: a fable.
ON a bright dewy summer's morn,
A bee rang'd o'er the verdant lawn ;
Studious to husband ev'ry hour,
And make the most of ev'ry flow'r.
Nimble, from stalk to stalk, she flies,
And loads with yellow wax her thighs;
With which the artist builds her comb,
And keeps all tight and warm at home:
Or from the cowslip's golden bells,
Sucks honey to enrich her cells;
Or ev'ry tempting rose pursues,
Or sips the lily's fragrant dews;
Yet never robs the shining bloom,
Or of its beauty, or perfume.
Thus she discharg'd, in ev'ry way,
The various duties of the day.
It chanc'd a frugal ant was near, Whose brow was wrinkled o'er with care. A great economist was she,
Nor less laborious than the bee:
By prudent parents often taught
What ills arise from want of thought;
That poverty on sloth depends;
On poverty, the loss of friends.
Hence, ev'ry day the ant is found,
With anxious steps to tread the ground;
With curious search to trace the grain,
And drag the heavy load with pain.
The active bee with pleasure saw
The ant fulfil her parents' law.
“Ah! sister-labourer," says she,
"How very fortunate are we,
Taught in our infancy to know
The comforts that from labour flow!
|