| vol. iii.—no. 142. | Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. | price four cents. |
| Tuesday, July 18, 1882. | Copyright, 1882, by Harper & Brothers. | $1.50 per Year, in Advance. |
THE SHEEP AT GRANDPA'S FARM.
Of all the lovely things we do, my sister Maud and I,
In summer days, at grandpa's farm, where hills are green and high,
There's nothing that we like so well as being sent to keep,
All through the shady afternoon, a flock of milk-white sheep.
You see, each lambkin knows its name; and when we call aloud,
From every corner of the field the fleecy darlings crowd.
At twilight when the sun goes down, to let the stars outshine,
We bend for them some willow boughs, or dainty budding vine.
And grandma bids us give them salt; they think it quite a treat,
Just as we think of sugar-plums, or bonbons nice and sweet.
But when the frisky little ones eat quick and run away,
"Excuse them, please, they're very young," their mothers seem to say.
I wonder people think them dumb. I'm sure the wise old ewes
Could tell some things to giddy girls who have no wit to lose.
How patiently they pace along, and let the lambkins play,
And chase their shadows on the grass, and skip about all day.
One never sees them looking cross; and that's what grandpa meant—
That "silly" once, in older days, was pure and innocent.
And in the Good Book Maud and I together love to read
Of pastures green and waters still, where happy flocks may feed.
We know the Shepherd loves the lambs, and oft we pray to Him
At eve low kneeling by our beds, when all the earth is dim;
And when we wake and laugh and play, and when we go to sleep,
We trust that He will keep us safe, as we have kept the sheep.