THE INDIAN SUMMER. 291 



And such I deem a boon from nature's hand, 



To aid the weakness of her mortal band. 



'Tis thus she grants to those who have delayed 



Their later tasks, a seasonable aid, 



To help the weak and backward to provide 



Those comforts cheerless winter has denied. 



Then do the little emmets rise to mend 



Their injured hillocks ere the season's end. 



And man is not then idle ; he derives 



A blessing from this gift ; spring toil revives ; 



The work of early seed-time is begun ; 



All his neglected harvest toil is done ; 



And the poor cottager, who gleans the earth, 



To gather fuel for her lonely hearth, 



Blesses the God and helper of the poor, 



For this bright sunshine round her cottage door. 



All creatures that are destined soon to die, 



Again awake, and come abroad, and ply 



Their various toils ; make merry while they stay, 



And live before their fate a pleasant holiday. 



