Come look in my eyes, little children, And tell me, through all the long day, Have you thought of the Father above us, Who guarded from evil our way? He heareth the cry of the sparrow, And careth for great and for small; In life and in death, little children, His love is the truest of all.
Now come to your rest, little children, And over your innocent sleep, Unseen by your vision, the angels Their watch through the darkness shall keep; Then pray that the Shepherd who guideth The lambs that He loveth so well May lead you, in life's rosy morning, Beside the still waters to dwell.
[Illustration: { A dog breaks a hole through ice to get a drink}]
Are dogs endowed with reason? As you grow up, you will spend many happy hours in the contemplation of this interesting question. It does sometimes seem as if there could be no possible doubt that dogs, as well as horses, elephants, and some other of the higher animals, are gifted with the dawn of reason, so extraordinary are some of their acts.
It is but a few days since a dog in Vermont saved a house from burning, and possibly the inmates. The dog discovered the fire in the kitchen, flew to his master's apartment, leaped upon his bed, and so aroused the people to a sense of their danger.
"As I was walking out one frosty morning with a large Newfoundland dog," says the Rev. J. C. Atkinson, "I observed the animal's repeated disappointment on putting his head down to drink at sundry ice-covered pools. After one of these disappointments, I broke the ice with my foot for my thirsty companion. The next time Tiger was thirsty, he did not wait for me to 'break the ice,' but with his foot, or, if too strong, by jumping upon it, he obtained water for himself."
Here seems to be the manifestation of a desire to _learn from observation_.
After the battle of Fredericksburg, it fell to my duty to search a given district for any dead or wounded soldiers there might be left, and to bring relief. Near an old brick dwelling I discovered a soldier in gray who seemed to be dead. Lying by his side was a noble dog, with his head flat upon his master's neck. As I approached, the dog raised his eyes to me good-naturedly, and began wagging his tail; but he did not change his position. The fact that the animal did not growl, that he did not move, but, more than all, the intelligent, joyful expression of his face, convinced me that the man was only wounded, which proved to be the case. A bullet had pierced his throat, and faint from the loss of blood, he had fallen down where he lay. His dog had _actually stopped the bleeding from the wound by laying his head across it_. Whether this was casual or not, I cannot say. But the shaggy coat of the faithful creature was completely matted with his master's blood.