THE LITTLE BROOK

See the little brook rushing down the steep hillside!

How it hurries!

How it leaps over the falls!

Hear it dash and splash among the rocks!

See its waters flash and sparkle in the sun!

“Stop, stop, little brook! Wait, I want to talk with you.”

“No, no, I must hurry on. I have a long way to go.”

“I will go with you, then. I will run along your banks. Please do not hurry so. I can hardly keep up with you.”

Now we come to the wide meadow.

Here the little brook flows more slowly and quietly.

But it never stops.

It must flow ever on and on.

Bright flowers are hiding along its banks.

They peep out from the grass.

They look into the clear flowing water.

“Stay, little brook, play with us,” they whisper.

“Why do you always hurry so? Are you not weary?”

“No, no, I am never weary, never tired,” murmurs the brook.

“I never stop to play.

It is play for me to rush swiftly down the steep hill.

It is fun to flow gently across the meadow.

I like to see you peeping over my banks as I pass.

But I cannot stop.

I must hurry on to meet the river.

Good-by, sweet flowers, good-by.”

Now the brook glides into the woodland.

Here the sad willows droop over the gliding waters.

High above them tower the oak, the ash, and the pine trees.

“Do not hurry, little brook,” whisper their leaves.

“Are you not tired?

You have come a long way.

Here the bright sun never comes.

Stay with us, and we will shade you.

Rest a while under our spreading branches.

In the meadow the burning sun is so hot.

But here it is cool.

Why can you not stay with us?

Why must you always hurry on?”

“Because I have to meet the river.

I love your wide spreading branches.

I love the gentle murmur of your green leaves.

I love your cool shade.

You are very kind to me.

But I cannot stay with you.

The great river needs me.

I shall have to hurry on.

Good-by, noble trees.

Good-by, drooping willows.”

So the never resting brook rushes, and glides and flows on forever.