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SMALL BEGINNINGS.

SMALL BEGINNINGS.

A TRAVELER through a dusty road strewed acorns on

the lea;

And one took root and sprouted up, and grew

tree.

into a

Love sought its shade, at evening time, to breathe his

early vows;

And age was pleased, in heats of noon, to bask beneath its boughs;

The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, the birds sweet music bore;

It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore.

A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern,

A passing stranger scooped a well, where weary men might turn;

He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the

brink;

He thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink.

He passed again, and lo! the well, by summers never

dried,

SMALL

BEGINNINGS.

121

Had cooled ten thousand parchéd tongues, and saved a life beside.

A dreamer dropped a random thought; 'twas old, and yet 'twas new;

A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being true.
It shone upon a genial mind, and lo! its light became
A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory flame;
The thought was small, its issue great, a watch-fire
on the hill;

It sheds its radiance far adown, and cheers the valley still.

A nameless man, amid a crowd that thronged the

daily mart,

Let fall a word of hope and love, unstudied, from the

heart;

A whisper on the tumult thrown,-a transitory

breath,

It raised a brother from the dust; it saved a soul

from death.

O germ! O fount! O word of love! O thought at

random cast;

Ye were but little at the first, but mighty at the last.

CHARLES MACKAY.

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NOTHING TO SPARE.

NOTHING TO SPARE.

WHAT? hast thou naught to spare? Alas! thy lot Indeed is hapless; thou art very poor.

Poorer than thy poor brethren who have not

The hoarded much, that crieth still for more! Where are thy baubles? Where thy glittering toys? Where thy rich trappings?

where?

The daily luxury that only cloys?

Thy amusements,

Oh! look, and see if thou hast "naught to spare.”

Where is thy wasted time? Thy unbreathed word
Of gentleness? Thy hidden talent, where?
The look of pity which thou mightst accord?

Oh! do not tell me thou hast "naught to spare." Bethink thee ere thou speakest so again,

And for thy needy brethren have some care; Oh! be more grateful to thy Father, when

So much He giveth thee-so much "to spare.”

THE ALPINE SHEEP.

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THE ALPINE SHEEP.

WHEN on my ear your loss was knelled,
And tender sympathy upburst,

A little spring from memory welled,

Which once had quenched my bitter thirst.

And I was fain to bear to you

A portion of its mild relief,

That it might be as cooling dew,

To steal some fever from your grief.

After our child's untroubled breath
Up to the Father took its way,
And on our home the shade of death
Like a long twilight haunting lay,

And friends came round with us to weep
Her little spirit's swift remove,

The story of the Alpine sheep
Was told to us by one we love.

They, in the valley's sheltering care,

Soon crop the meadow's tender prime, And when the sod grows brown and bare

The Shepherd strives to make them climb

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THE ALPINE SHEEP.

To airy shelves of pasture green

That hang along the mountain's side,
Where grass and flowers together lean,

And down through mists the sunbeams slide.

But naught can tempt the timid things

The steep and rugged path to try,

Though sweet the Shepherd calls and sings,
And seared below the pastures lie,—

Till in his arms their lambs he takes,
Along the dizzy verge to go;

Then, heedless of the rifts and breaks,
They follow on o'er rock and snow.

And in those pastures, lifted fair,

More dewy soft than lowland mead,
The Shepherd drops his tender care,
And sheep and lambs together feed.

This parable, by Nature breathed,

Blew on me as the south wind free
O'er frozen brooks, that flow unsheathed.
From icy thraldom to the sea.

A blissful vision, through the night,
Would all my happy senses sway,
Of the good Shepherd on the height,
Or climbing up the starry way;