{365}

A PRETTY THING

Who am I that shines so bright
With my pretty yellow light,
Peeping through your curtains gray?
Tell me, little girl, I pray.

When the sun is gone, I rise
In the very silent skies;
And a cloud or two doth skim
Round about my silver rim.

All the little stars do seem
Hidden by my brighter beam;
And among them I do ride,
Like a queen in all her pride.

Then the reaper goes along,
Singing forth a merry song,
While I light the shaking leaves
And the yellow harvest sheaves.

Little girl, consider well,
Who this simple tale doth tell;
And I think you'll guess it soon,
For I only am the Moon.
--_Ann Taylor_.

{366}

THE SHEEP

Lazy sheep, pray tell me why
In the pleasant fields you lie,
Eating grass or daisies white,
From the morning till the night?
Everything can something do,
But what kind of use are you?

Nay, my little master, nay,
Do not serve me so, I pray.
Don't you see the wool that grows
On my back to make your clothes?
Cold, and very cold you'd be,
If you had not wool from me.

True, it seems a pleasant thing
To nip the daisies in the spring;
But many chilly nights I pass
On the cold and dewy grass,
Or pick a scanty dinner where
All the common's brown and bare.

Then the farmer comes at last,
When the merry spring is past,
And cuts my woolly coat away,
To warm you in the winter's day.
Little master, this is why
In the pleasant fields I lie.
--_Jane Taylor_.

{367}{368}

[Illustration]
THE WOUNDED LAMB
By Von Bremen

"How think ye? if any man have a hundred sheep, and one of them be
gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and go unto the
mountains, and seek that which goeth astray? And if so be that he
find it, verily I say unto you, he rejoiceth over it more than over
the ninety and nine which have not gone astray. Even so it is not
the will of your Father who is in heaven, that one of these little
ones should perish."--_The Words of Jesus_
[End illustration]

{369}

THE COW

Thank you, pretty cow, that made
Pleasant milk to soak my bread,
Every day, and every night,
Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.

Do not chew the hemlock rank,
Growing on the weedy bank;
But the yellow cowslips eat,
They perhaps will make it sweet.

Where