To him, O let my willing tongue
Send up the grateful strain;
And let my heart join with the song,
Or all my praise is vain.
TO BLESS, IS TO BE BLEST.
When young, what honest triumph flush’d my breast,
This truth once known,—To bless, is to be blest!
I led the bending beggar on his way;
(Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-grey;)
Soothed the keen pangs his aged spirit felt,
And on his tale with mute attention dwelt.
As in his script I dropp’d my little store,
I griev’d to think that little was no more;
He breath’d his pray’r,—“Long may such goodness live!”
’Twas all he gave, ’twas all he had to give.
THE LITTLE MOUSE.
In this neat little house
Liv’d a poor little mouse,
He had plenty to eat every day;
Till, enticed by another,
Without leave of his mother,
He ventured one day out to play.
But the cat he soon spied,
As he walk’d the bank-side,
And soon of his folly repented.
She put out her paw,
Seized him with her claw,
And eat him before she relented.