SONGS.
The Little Spring.
Beneath a green and mossy bank
There flows a clear and fairy stream;
There the pert squirrel oft has drank,
And thought, perhaps, 'twas made for him.
Their pitchers there the laborers fill,
As drop by drop the crystals flow,
Singing their silvery welcome still
To all who to the fountain go.
Then to the river on it glides,
Its tributary drop to bear,
Its modest head a moment hides,
Then rises up and sparkles there.
The touching lesson on my heart
Falls like the gentle dews of heaven,
Bids me with humble love impart
The little treasure God has given.
For from a source as small as this
Full many a cup of joy may flow,
And on the stream of human bliss
Its little ray of gladness throw.