FABLES OF FLORA. 
1 The hungry children of the poor, 
With baskets in their little hands, 
Come running gayly o’er the moor, 
In merry, shouting bands. 
< And then within the golden light 
My red, delicious fruit I lay, 
That it may burst upon their sight, 
And check them in their play. 
< Such simple deeds, to one like thee, 
May seem a trifling waste of life ; 
But God for silent works made me, 
And thee for active strife. 
1 1 am not, cannot hope to be, 
So widely useful as thou art; 
But it is joy enough for me 
To do my humble part.’ 
I heard with reverence ; then pursued 
Along the fields my homeward walk J 
My soul with nobler trust endued, 
From this meek floweret’s talk. 
