"Don't ride and race us about till we are ready to drop, and our wind is almost broken, and we are reeking with heat and rough usage.
"Pray let us have a little more water when we stand weary and thirsty, with our poor dry tongues unable to ask for it. You have felt the suffering of thirst.
"And for pity's sake," the ponies would say, "loosen this torturing bearing-rein. We toss and shake our heads, or we try to keep them still, and nothing gives us a moment's ease. You, master, would suffer severely if your head were held in such a position, and we could do more work, and much better, without it.
"Please remember that we can always hear your voice, and shall understand what you want us to do so much more quickly, if you speak to us quietly, than if you roar at us, and drag our tender, worn mouths about. We get so puzzled and frightened when you're in a rage with us, that we only flounder and plunge, and make you more and more angry.
"Our last entreaty is that, when we get old and past our work, you will not let our poor, wasted bodies stagger along under some load, when our lives have been spent in your service, but that you will reward us by having us immediately put out of our pain."
Think how much you owe to mercy yourself, and remember, "The merciful man doeth good to his beast."
ONE LINK GONE.
Take the pillows from the cradle
Where the little sufferer lay;
Draw the curtain, close the shutters,
Shut out every beam of day.
Spread the pall upon the table;
Place the lifeless body there;
Back from off the marble features
Lay the auburn curls with care.
With its little blue-veined fingers
Crossed upon its painless breast,
Free from care, and pain, and anguish,
Let the infant beauty rest.
Smooth its little shroud about it;
Pick its toys from off the floor;
They, with all their sparkling beauty,
Ne'er can charm their owner more.
Take the little shoes and stockings
From the doting mother's sight;
Pattering feet no more will need them,
In and out with such delight.
Parents faint and worn with watching
Through the long, dark night of grief,
Dry your tears, and soothe your sighing;
Gain a respite of relief.
Mother's care no more is needed
To allay the rising moan;
And though you perchance may leave it,
It can never be alone.
Thus a golden link is broken
In a chain of earthly bliss—
Thus the distance shorter making
'Twixt another world and this.
