


CHARLES MACKAY. 
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, 
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 ! 

