MARIA LOWELL.

* * * * *

LITTLE LAMB.

    Little lamb, who made thee? 
    Dost thou know who made thee? 
    Gave thee life and made thee feed
    By the stream and o’er the mead;
    Gave thee clothing of delight,—­
    Softest clothing, woolly, bright? 
    Gave thee such a tender voice,
    Making all the vales rejoice;
    Little lamb, who made thee? 
    Dost thou know who made thee?

    Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
    Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
    He is callen by thy name,
    For he calls himself a lamb. 
    He is meek, and He is mild;
    He became a little child. 
    I a child, and thou a lamb,
    We are called by His name. 
    Little lamb, God bless thee! 
    Little lamb, God bless thee!

WILLIAM BLAKE.

* * * * *

COWPER’S HARE.

    Well—­one at least is safe.  One sheltered hare
    Has never heard the sanguinary yell
    Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. 
    Innocent partner of my peaceful home,
    Whom ten long years’ experience of my care
    Has made at last familiar, she has lost
    Much of her vigilant instinctive dread,
    Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. 
    Yes—­thou mayst eat thy bread, and lick the hand
    That feeds thee; thou mayst frolic on the floor
    At evening, and at night retire secure
    To thy straw-couch, and slumber unalarmed;
    For I have gained thy confidence, have pledged
    All that is human in me to protect
    Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. 
    If I survive thee I will dig thy grave,
    And when I place thee in it, sighing say,
    I knew at least one hare that had a friend.

COWPER.

* * * * *

TURN THY HASTY FOOT ASIDE.

    Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside,
      Nor crush that helpless worm! 
    The frame thy wayward looks deride
      Required a God to form.

    The common lord of all that move,
      From whom thy being flowed,
    A portion of his boundless love
      On that poor worm bestowed.

    Let them enjoy their little day,
      Their humble bliss receive;
    Oh! do not lightly take away
      The life thou canst not give!

T. GISBORNE.

* * * * *

THE WORM TURNS.

    I’ve despised you, old worm, for I think you’ll admit
      That you never were beautiful even in youth;
    I’ve impaled you on hooks, and not felt it a bit;
      But all’s changed now that Darwin has told us the truth
    Of your diligent life, and endowed you with fame: 
      You begin to inspire me with kindly regard. 
    I have friends of my own, clever worm, I could name,
      Who have ne’er in their lives been at work half so hard.