"The rabbit tribe about me run their way,
Their little all to man becomes a prey.
The busy creatures trot about and run;
Some kill them with a net, some with a gun.
Alas! how little do these creatures know
For what they feed their young, so careful go.
The little creatures trot about and sweat,
Yet for the use of man is all they get."
"He closed his eyes on ev'ry earthly thing.
Angles surround his bed: to heaven they bring