But patiently he bears his load,
Or draws his master's cart
Along the rough and hilly road;
From town or village mart.
And children who refuse to walk
The way their teacher asks,
And spend their time in foolish talk,
When they should learn their tasks;
Will be hereafter, as in youth,
The lowest of their class,
And may be called with perfect truth,
More stupid than an ass.
Yon butterfly, whose airy form
Flits o'er the garden wall,
Was once a little crawling worm,
And could not fly at all.
The little worm was then enclosed
Within a shell-like case,
And there it quietly reposed
Until a change took place.
And now on red and purple wings
It roves as free as air,
Visiting all the lovely things
That make the earth so fair.
And we, if humbly we behave,
And do the will of God,
And strive to follow to our grave,
The paths the saints have trod-
Shall find a change more glorious far
Than that which came to light,
When, bursting through its prison bar,
The butterfly took flight.
Through Christ, who reigns above the skies,
To us it will be given
Aloft on angel's wings to rise,
And taste the joys of heaven.
Oh! Lapland's clime is cold and drear,
And snow lies there throughout the year;
But heaven has there the reindeer sent,
Which makes the people quite content.
When on a journey they would go,
He draws them smoothly o'er the snow;
His flesh is used by them for food;
His skin makes clothing warm and good.
They of his fat their candles make;
His bones for chairs and stools they take;
Their pins, their needles, and their thread
Are from this useful creature made.
And thus, although 'tis strange indeed,
This beast supplies their every need,
Which shews how good, how kind, how wise,
Is He who rules our destinies.
Come, children, listen to me now,
And you shall hear about the cow;
You'll find her useful, live or dead,
Whether she's black, or white, or red.
When milk-maids milk her morn and night,
She gives them milk so fresh and white;
And this we little children think
Is very nice for us to drink.
The curdled milk they press and squeeze,
And so they make it into cheese;
The cream they skim and shake in churns,
And then it soon to butter turns.
And when she's dead, her flesh is good;
For beef is good and wholesome food;
But though 'twill make us brave and strong,
To eat too much is very wrong.
Her skin, with lime and bark together,
The tanner tans, and makes it leather;
And without that, what should we do
For soles to every boot or shoe?
The shoemaker cuts it with his knife,
And bound the tops are by his wife,
And then he nails it to the last,
And sews to make it tight and fast.
The hair which grows upon her back
Is taken (whether white or black),
And mixed with mortar, short or long,
Which makes it stick quite firm and strong.
The plasterer spreads it with his tool,
And this you'll find is just the rule,
And when it's smooth and dry and fast,
I'm sure it many years will last.
Her hoofs, with care, make glue so good
For carpenters to join their wood;
Her fat, with cotton used aright,
Make candles which we burn at night.
'Her feet they wash and scrape and boil,
From which they skim off neat's-foot oil;
Her feet are then both clean and sweet,
And very nice for us to eat.
And last of all, if cut with care,
Her horns make combs to comb our hair;
And so we learn, thanks to our teachers,
That cows are very useful creatures.
Wilderspin's Infant System.
The cow, the sheep, the horse have long
Been made the subject of our song;
But there are many creatures yet
Whose merits we must not forget.
Flies, both great and small,
The martlet quits the wall;
The swift and swallow will swiftly follow,
And they will swallow you all.
Worms go under earth;
Grubs, return to your berth;
The lapwing will take you and robin will shake you; The winter 's his time of dearth.
Ants in clustering hills,
Fear the partridges' bills;
They hunt in the stubble to work you trouble,
And each has a beak that kills.
Bees, take care of yourselves;
Tits are ravenous elves.
The bee-eating bird I lately heard
Where into the bank she delves.
At the sound of the cuckoo's voice,
No insects need rejoice;
Cuckoo! cuckoo! he's coming for you;
Of grubs he takes his choice.
Glow-worms, hide your light;
The warbling bird of night
On you will sup! He'll gobble you up;
You'd better not shine so bright.
Spiders, scamper away;
Off with your eggs,
The woodpecker 's drumming; he'll soon be coming; He'll find where your nests you lay.
Gnats, that wheel and flit,
Beware of little tomtit.
'Tis not for the fruit that fly-catcher mute
On yonder bough doth sit.
Dragon-flies, brightly blue,
King-fishers look for you;
See, over the stream, like a rainbow gleam,
She's hovering now in view.
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