Then the busy people go, Some to plow, and some to sow; When I leave, their work is done, Guess if I am not the Sun. --_Jane Taylor_.
[Illustration] MADONNA AND CHILD By Georg Papperitz [End illustration]
Who am I that shines so bright With my pretty yellow light, Peeping through your curtains gray? Tell me, little girl, I pray.
When the sun is gone, I rise In the very silent skies; And a cloud or two doth skim Round about my silver rim.
All the little stars do seem Hidden by my brighter beam; And among them I do ride, Like a queen in all her pride.
Then the reaper goes along, Singing forth a merry song, While I light the shaking leaves And the yellow harvest sheaves.
Little girl, consider well, Who this simple tale doth tell; And I think you'll guess it soon, For I only am the Moon. --_Ann Taylor_.
Lazy sheep, pray tell me why In the pleasant fields you lie, Eating grass or daisies white, From the morning till the night? Everything can something do, But what kind of use are you?
Nay, my little master, nay, Do not serve me so, I pray. Don't you see the wool that grows On my back to make your clothes? Cold, and very cold you'd be, If you had not wool from me.
True, it seems a pleasant thing To nip the daisies in the spring; But many chilly nights I pass On the cold and dewy grass, Or pick a scanty dinner where All the common's brown and bare.
Then the farmer comes at last, When the merry spring is past, And cuts my woolly coat away, To warm you in the winter's day. Little master, this is why In the pleasant fields I lie. --_Jane Taylor_.
[Illustration] THE WOUNDED LAMB By Von Bremen
"How think ye? if any man have a hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and go unto the mountains, and seek that which goeth astray? And if so be that he find it, verily I say unto you, he rejoiceth over it more than over the ninety and nine which have not gone astray. Even so it is not the will of your Father who is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish."--_The Words of Jesus_ [End illustration]
Thank you, pretty cow, that made Pleasant milk to soak my bread, Every day, and every night, Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.
Do not chew the hemlock rank, Growing on the weedy bank; But the yellow cowslips eat, They perhaps will make it sweet.