The little children flocking came
And chafed his frozen hands in theirs,
And busily the good old dame
A cor fortable mess prepares.
Tieir kindness cheered his drooping soul,
And lowly down his wrinkled cheek
Tie big round tears were seen to roll,
Aid told the thanks he could not speak.
The children too began to figh,
And all their merry chat was o’er;
And yet they felt, they knew not why,
More glad than they had done before.
ORIGINAL
JAIL, beauteous stranger of the wood,
Attendant on the spring!
Now heaven repairs thy yeraal feat,
And woods thy welcome fing.
Soon as the daily decks the green
Thy certain voice we hear;
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?
Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers, When heaven is filled with music fweet
Of birds among the bowers.
The schoolboy wandering in the wood
To pull the flowers so gay, Starts-thy curious voice to hear,
And imitates, thy lay.
Soon as the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fly'st the vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,
Another spring to hail.
Sweer bird, thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear; dou haft no forrow in thy song, No winter in thy year!
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O say, what is that thing calid light,
Which I must ne'er enjoy?
What are the blellings of the fight?
O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wondrous things you fee;
You say the sun shines bright:
I feel him warm, but how can he
Or inake it day or night?
My day or night myself I make
Whene'er I sleep or play, And could I always keep awake
With me 't were always day.
With heavy fighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe; But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I ne'er can know.
Shall man, the great master of all,
The only infenfible prove ?
Forbid it; fair gratitude's call!
Forbid it, devotion and love !
The Lord, who such wonders could raise,
And still can deftroy with a nod,
My lips shall inceffantly praise,
My foal fhall be wrapt in my God!
ORATORIO OF ABIL
THE FLY.
Busy, curious, thirsty fly,
Drink with me, and drink as I;
Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip, and sip it up.
Make the most of life you may,
Life is short, and wears away.
Both alike are mine and thine,
Haft’ning quick to their decline :
Thine's a summer, mine's no more
Though repeated to threefcore;
Threescore fummers, when they're gone,
Will appear as fhort as one.
Orainopper,
O! could I fly, I'd fly with thee;
We'd make, with social wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the spring:
Happy infect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee ftill,
And thy verdant cup does fill.
Thou doft drink and dance and sing,
Happier than the happiest king!
All the fields which thou dost fee,
All the plants, belong to thee,
All that summer hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plów
Farmer he, and landlord thou !
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