THE UMBRELLA, AND THE APRIL SHOWER.
Keep close—we’ll crowd the closer,
The harder it shall pour;
’Tis seldom one umbrella
Is called to shelter four;
But ours is large and generous,
And has a heart for more.
Yet faster, and yet faster,
The pelting sheets arrive,
And our one good umbrella
Is bound to shelter five,
For we are packed as snugly
As bees within a hive.
Now let it come in torrents—
We’re snug as snug can be;
What cares our brave umbrella
For five, or four, or three?
On every side ’tis shedding
The rain in careless glee.
The clouds are very leaky,
The bottom must be out,
But, with our good umbrella,
We have no fear nor doubt,
Though every stick above us
Rains like a tiny spout.
Heigho! ’tis coming faster,
The bottles sure have burst;
But hark! the brave umbrella
Says, "Clouds, do now your worst,
If you would wet these children,
You must destroy me first."
They must have thrown wide open
The windows of the sky;
But, with our good umbrella,
I think we’ll get home dry;
Or, if we do get sprinkled,
We’ll neither fret nor cry.
Step lightly, bonnie sister,
Keep close, sweet little pet,
With such a brave umbrella,
We shall not be much wet;
But Prink will have a drenching,
On that I’ll make a bet.
How like a river torrent
It pours along the street!
Prink cares not for umbrellas,
To him a bath’s a treat,
And our good India-rubbers
Are umbrellas for our feet.
What’s that you say, dear Nellie?
’Tis dropping on your arm?
Indeed, our kind umbrella
Didn’t mean you any harm;
And soon the good snug parlor
Will make all dry and warm.
Ha! ha! the wind is rising,
But we are almost there.
What if our good umbrella
Should fly away in air!
Run, Prink, and say we’re coming,
And open the gate—do you hear!
THE OSTRICH.
Let the fur-clad Laplander boast
Of the reindeer’s bird-like speed;
Let the Arab, for riding post,
Bet high on his mettlesome steed;
Let the Briton talk loud of the chase
With the fox, or the hare, or the stag;
Let the Yankee, stark mad in the race,
Count miles by the minutes, and brag;
The bird of the desert is ours—
Competitors all we defy—
A bird of such wonderful powers—
We scarce know if we ride or we fly.
You have all of the hippogriff heard,
For mettle and speed a rare thing,
Half-breed betwixt courser and bird,
Keeping pace with foot and with wing.
The bird of the desert is he,
The ostrich of beautiful plume,
Skimming earth, as a swallow the sea,
Or an eagle the lofty blue dome.
He laughs at the speed of the hind,
For pursuers he feels no concern,
He travels ahead of the wind,
And leaves the dull lightning astern.
THE PLOWMAN.
Turn up the generous soil—
’Tis rich in hidden wealth,
And well repays your earnest toil
With plenty, peace, and health.
Plow with a bold, strong hand—
Drive deep the glittering share;
No surface-scratching will command
Earth’s treasures rich and rare.
Then, if you’d freely reap,
With bounteous freedom sow—
And while you wake, and while you sleep,
The precious grain will grow.