THE ANT, OR EMMET.

1 THESE emmets, how little they are in our eyes!
We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies,
Without our regard or concern ;
Yet, wise as we are, if we went to their school,
There’s many asluggard and many a fool
Some lessons of wisdom might learn.

2 They wear not their time out in sleeping or play,
But gather up corn on a sunshiny day,
And for winter they Jay up their stores ;
They manage their work in such regular forms,
One would think they foresaw all the frost and the
storms,
And so brought their food within doors.
3 But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant,
Tf I take not good care of the things I shall want,
Nor provide against dangers in time ;
When death or old age shall once stare in my face,
What awretch shall I be in the end of my days,
If I trifle away all their prime !