And truth my spirit oft beguiles,
While her dear face is wreath’d in smiles,
By whisp’ring sweetly unto me;
As thou hast measured, it shall be
In justice meted out to thee,
When thou hast reached the blissful isles
Beyond the misty veil of Time;
Thou’lt find a rest from earthly wars,
And healing for thy earthly scars,
Within that sweet supernal clime.
[The Turtle’s Sermon.]
An old and crafty terrapin,
Who lately found his speech,
Like many another simple lout,
Concluded he could preach.
And so he waddled to the shore,
And thus address’d his friends—
The bullfrogs and the snappers bold,
About their latter ends.
And told them all how they must be
Made into soup at last;
And how the serpent sharp can see
When last year’s hide is cast.
And how the wary pickerel
Enjoys the minnow sweet,
Which he doth never fail to catch,
When it goes out to skate;
And how the beaver builds his house
Within his winter dam;
And how the oyster lays its egg,
And hatches out a clam;
And how the busy bumble bee,
Doth blow his little horn,
Whene’er he goes in quest of food,
Amid the standin’ corn:
And how the gentle butterfly
Sings many a merry tune
Because he’s glad he has escaped
From out the old cocoon;
And how the rabbit flies his kite,
When he can find a string;
And how the owl sits up all night,
To hear the squirrel sing;