470 CHARLES MAC KAY. 
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 wdth 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, 
Had cooled ten thousand parching 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 watchfire on the hill, 
It sheds its radiance far adown, 
And cheers the valley still ! 
