One who has studied
them says that the good they do is very great and that the value of one
of the little animals might easily amount to fifty dollars a year.
Are we not unjust to any living creature when we shrink from it because
to us it does not seem beautiful? It may well be that our eyes are too
dull to see its real beauty. But whether we can see the beauty or not,
it is only fair that we should recognize the service which we are so
willing to accept.
A TRIUMPH.
Little Roger up the long slope rushing
Through the rustling corn,
Showers of dew-drops from the broad leaves brushing,
In the early morn,
At his sturdy little shoulder bearing,
For a banner gay,
Stem of fir with one long shaving flaring
In the wind away!
Up he goes, the summer sunrise flushing
O'er him in his race,
Sweeter dawn of rosy childhood blushing
On his radiant face;
If he can but set his standard glorious
On the hill-top low,
Ere the sun climbs the clear sky victorious,
All the world aglow!
So he presses on with childish ardor,
Almost at the top!
Hasten, Roger! Does the way grow harder?
Wherefore do you stop?
From below the corn-stalks tall and slender
Comes a plaintive cry;
Turns he for an instant from the splendor
Of the crimson sky,
Wavers, then goes flying toward the hollow,
Calling loud and clear,
"Coming, Jenny! Oh, why did you follow?
Don't you cry, my dear!"
Small Janet sits weeping 'mid the daisies;
"Little sister sweet,
Must you follow Roger?" Then he raises
Baby on her feet,
Guides her tiny steps with kindness tender,
Cheerfully and gay,
All his courage and his strength would lend her
Up the uneven way,
Till they front the blazing east together;
But the sun has rolled
Up the sky in the still summer weather,
Flooding them with gold.
Pages:
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140