With merry hearts they now can meet
Her kind approving eye,
And to her various questions give
A cheerful, quick reply.
They have not now her death to fear,
But know, that time and care,
Will soon restore their mother dear,
To their most ardent prayer.
GEORGE AND EDMUND.
"Come hither, George," young Edmund cried,
"Come quickly here to me,
For yonder floats the little boat,
Upon the swelling sea.
"'Tis fasten'd by a single rope,
And there is each an oar,
And were we once but safely in,
We soon could push from shore."
"Oh! go not, Edmund," George replied,
"The storm is rising fast,
The forest bends, the sea-spray flies,
Before the howling blast."
"The wind may howl—perhaps it does,
But not so loud as you,
Who always scold and cry out 'Don't',
When pleasure is in view."
In anger Edmund spoke, and turn'd
In pride and scorn away,
To where the boat so temptingly,
Toss'd in the little bay.