THE SNAIL.
Poor little Snail,
How very pale,
Your cheek is blanched with fear!
What horrid dread
Has made you shed
So many a slimy tear?
Come! faster crawl
Along the wall,
Leave care behind,—all's well!
That seeming pack
Upon your back
Is near an empty shell.
"Leave care behind."
Come! smile again,
And let the rain
Of tears at once be dry;
Faint-hearted quite,
And far from right,
Before you're hurt to cry.
No one will doubt
Who thinks about
This great world spinning round,
That all have hours
When sorrow's showers
Make April all around.
"That seeming pack
Upon your back
Is near an empty shell."
But May and June
Follow full soon,
And joy succeeds to sorrow;
So dry the tear,
And from the year
Your cheering lesson borrow.
"Ah, Snailey! see."
Ah, Snailey! see
To you and me
Our burdens oft appear
Much heavier far
Than what they are,
When we give way to fear.
"Buz! buz! buz!
Over blossoms heavy laden."