And where are your houses and barns?
You sow not the ground, and you reap not the corn,
You spring from your nests at the earliest morn,
But you care not about the wide farms.”
“’Tis God,” said a lark, that rose from the turf,
“Who gives us the good we enjoy;
He painted our wings, and he gave us our voice,
He finds us our food, and he bids us rejoice;—
We’re his creatures, my beautiful boy.”
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
VOLUME II.—No. 2.