THE CAMELS.
The Camels live in desert lands;
Their feet are made to walk on sands;
They carry burdens far and near,
Where neither grass nor trees appear;
Where there's no rain, no rivers, brooks,
No water anywhere for folks;--
But God has made in Camels' chest
Peculiar sacs, for He knew best
What they must do, and that they'd die,
If He did not their drink supply.
Before they start they drink and drink,
Till every sac is full, I think;--
And at the mouth of every sac,
A muscle strong, but loose and slack,
Will tighten up when it is filled,
So that no drink can e'er be spilled.
And when on journey, last or first,
The camel wants to slake his thirst,
A bag-string loosens, and out-pours
Enough to satisfy for hours.
The laden camels, in a row,
Are called a Caravan, you know;--
Sometimes a caravan is lost,
Being buried deep in sand and dust.
A storm of wind, a Simoon named,
Will sweep across the desert sand,
When camels, men, and every one
Must throw themselves their knees upon,
And bury faces in the earth,
For thus alone they save their breath;
A fearful thing, but 'tis the best
That they can do,--now hear the rest.
