Then quick he laid his shepherd’s crook
  Upon a grassy bank;
And off he waded in the brook
  From which the lambkins drank.

He culled and fitted to his sling
  Five pebbles, smooth and round;
And one of these he meant should bring
  The giant to the ground.

“I’ve killed a lion and a bear,”
  Said he, “and now I’ll slay
The Philistine, and by the hair
  I’ll bring his head away!”

Then onward to the battle-field
  The youthful hero sped;
He knew Goliath by his shield,
  And by his towering head.

But when, with only sling and staff,
  The giant saw him come,
In triumph he began to laugh;
  Yet David struck him dumb.

He fell! ’twas David’s puny hand
  That caused his overthrow! 
Though long the terror of the land,
  A pebble laid him low.

The blood from out his forehead gushed. 
  He rolled, and writhed, and roared: 
The little hero on him rushed,
  And drew his ponderous sword.

Before its owner’s dying eye
  He held the gleaming point
Upon his throbbing neck to try;
  Then severed cord and joint.

He took the head, and carried it
  And laid it down by Saul;
And showed him where the pebble hit
  That caused the giant’s fall.

The lad, who had Goliath slain
  With pebbles and a sling,
Was raised in after years to reign
  As Israel’s second king!

’Twas not the courage, skill, or might
  Which David had, alone,
That helped him Israel’s foe to fight
  And conquer, with a stone.

But, when the shepherd stripling went
  The giant thus to kill,
God used him as an instrument
  His purpose to fulfil!

=Escape of the Doves=.

Come back, pretty Doves!  O, come back from the tree. 
  You bright little fugitive things! 
We could not have thought you so ready and free
  In using your beautiful wings.

We didn’t suppose, when we lifted the lid,
  To see if you knew how to fly,
You’d all flutter off in a moment, and bid
  The basket for ever good-by!

Come down, and we’ll feast you on insects and seeds;—­
  You sha’nt have occasion to roam—­
We’ll give you all things that a bird ever needs,
  To make it contented at home.

Then come, pretty Doves!  O, return for our sakes,
  And don’t keep away from us thus;
Or, when your old slumbering master awakes,
  ’Twill be a sad moment for us!

“We can’t!” said the birds, “and the basket may stand
  A long time in waiting; for now
You find out too late, that a bird in the hand
  Is worth, at least, two on the bough.

“And we, from our height, looking down on you there,
  By experience taught to be sage,—­
Find, one pair of wings that are free in the air
  Are worth two or three in the cage!

“But when our old master awakes, and shall find
  The work you have just been about,
We hope, by the freedom we love, he’ll be kind,
  And spare you for letting us out.