What wonderful instinct these creatures display
In the care of their young on a damp rainy day,
As they run from one room to another!
And up stairs and down stairs they hasten again,
As each little ant, to be kept from the rain,
Must be carried up stairs by its mother.
When the clouds are dispersed, again they must run,
These delicate ants could not bear the hot sun;
And their mothers immediately go
To move their dear children a few stories lower,
And find them a room upon the ground floor,
And give them their supper below.
Who teaches the ant her food to prepare,
And store it in cells with such diligent care,
That she all their wants may supply?
’Tis God, my dear child; he provides for them all,
And each little insect, though ever so small,
Is still in the reach of his eye.
The same tender parent who watches o’er you,
Has guided the ant the whole summer through,
And taught her her food to prepare;
And when wintry frosts have quite covered the ground,
The ant with her family safely is found,
Still guarded and kept by his care.
LITTLE EDDIE.
The roving eye might vainly seek
A fairer to behold,
Than little Eddie’s rosy cheek,
When he was eight years old.
And those who love a merry glance,
No brighter eye had seen,
Nor lighter limb to skip and dance,
In meadow or in green.
But Edward’s charms of better kind,
With more delight I praise,
For sweet and gentle was his mind,
And pleasant all his ways.
No angry passions, fierce and wild,
No evil thought or plan,
Had place in this beloved child,
Throughout his little span.
In health and strength he grew, till came
His ninth revolving year,
Then sickness seized his little frame,
And suffering most severe.