The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume Ii Part 27

2 While gardens show in flowering pride The lily's stately ranks, It loves its modest head to hide Beneath the bramble banks.

3 And so the little cottage maid May bloom unseen and die; But she, when transient flowerets fade, Shall live with Christ on high.

THE HOUR-GLa.s.s.

1 As by my mother's side I stand, Whose hairs, alas, are few and gray, I watch the hour-gla.s.s shed its sand, To mark how wears the night away.

2 Though age must many ills endure, As time for ever runs away, This shows her Christian comforts sure, And leads to heaven's eternal day.

THE BIRD'S NEST.

1 In yonder brake there is a nest; But come not, George, too nigh, Lest the poor mother, frightened thence, Should leave her young, and fly!

2 Think with what pain, for many a day, Soft moss and straw she brought; And let our own dear mother's care Be present to our thought.

3 And think how must her heart deplore, And droop with grief and pain, If those she reared, and nursed, and loved, She ne'er should see again.

THE MOWER.

1 Hark to the mower's whistling blade!

How steadily he mows!

The gra.s.s is heaped, the daisies fade, All scattered as he goes.

2 The flowers of life may bloom and fade, But He in whom I trust, Though cold and in my grave-clothes laid, Can raise me from the dust.

SAt.u.r.dAY NIGHT.

1 Come, let us, ere we go to bed, O'er the decaying embers chat, Though little Mary hangs her head, And strokes no more the purring cat.

2 And let us tell how prisoners pine In silent dungeons dark and drear; Whilst on each face the embers s.h.i.+ne, And all is calm and peaceful here.

3 The English cot is free from cares; But, see, the brand is wasted quite; Come, little Mary, say your prayers; Kiss, mother, kiss! good night, good night!

SUNDAY NIGHT.

1 Let us unfold G.o.d's holy book, And by the taper's light, With hearts subdued, and sober look, So spend the Sabbath night.

2 Where now the thoughts of anxious life, Its guilty pleasures, where?

Here dies its loud and mourning strife, And all its sounds of care.

3 Let other views our hearts engross, To our Redeemer true, Who seems expiring on the cross, To say, I died for you!

THE APRIL SHOWER.

1 When rain-drops, glistening from the thatch, Like drops of silver run, Our old blind grandame lifts the latch, To feel the cheering sun.

2 She sees no rainbow in the sky, But when the cuckoo sung, She thought upon the years gone by, When she was blithe and young.

3 But G.o.d, who comforts want and age, Shall be her only friend, And bless her till her pilgrimage In silent dust shall end.

THE ROBIN REDBREAST.

1 Poor Robin sits and sings alone When showers of driving sleet, By the cold winds of winter blown, The cottage cas.e.m.e.nt beat.

2 Come, let him share our chimney nook, And dry his dripping wing; See, little Mary shuts her book, And cries, "Poor Robin, sing!"

3 Methinks I hear his faint reply: When cowslips deck the plain, The lark shall carol in the sky, And I shall sing again.

4 But in the cold and wintry day, To you I owe a debt, That in the suns.h.i.+ne of the May I never can forget!

THE b.u.t.tERFLY AND THE BEE.

1 Methought I heard a b.u.t.terfly Say to a labouring bee, Thou hast no colours of the sky On painted wings, like me.

2 Poor child of vanity! those dyes, And colours bright and rare, With mild reproof, the bee replies, Are all beneath my care.

3 Content I toil from morn till eve, And, scorning idleness, To tribes of gawdy sloth I leave The vanities of dress.

THE GLOW-WORM.

1 Oh, what is this which s.h.i.+nes so bright, And in the lonely place Hangs out his small green lamp at night, The dewy bank to grace!