158

SELECT POETRY

Free from doubt and faithless sorrow,
God provideth for the morrow!”

Heber,

THE WORM AND THE SNAIL;
OR, BE CONTENT WITH YOUR LOT.

A LITTLE worm, too close that played

In contact with a gardener’s spade,

Writhing about in sudden pain,

Perceived that he was cut in twain;

His nether ‘half left short and free,

Much doubting its identity.

However, when the shock was past,

New circling rings were formed so fast

By Nature's hand, which fails her never,

That soon he was as long as ever;

But yet the insult and the pain

This little reptile did retain,

In what, in man, is called the brain.
One fine spring evening, bright and wet,

Ere yet the April sun was set,

When slimy reptiles craw] and coil

Forth from the soft and humid soil,

He left his subterranean clay,

To move along the gravelly way ;

Where suddenly his course was stopt

By something on the path that dropt;

When, with precaution and surprise,

He straight shrunk up to half his size.