Enclos'd in three hundred yards of yellow silk,
There she lies and lives without air or food,
"Till, bursting from her narrow sepulchre,
She springs forth a little butterfly,
Lays her eggs, and dies.
The work and changes of the silk-worm are wonderful;
But He that made the silk-worm
Is far more wonderful than all his works;
He maketh darkness his pavilion,
And rideth upon the wings of the wind;
is in the sea,
His paths in the great waters,
And his footsteps are not known.
Q. That cloth from wool is made we know,
Which on the harmless sheep doth
But tell us, if you can, we pray,
How silk is grown, so bright and gay
A. A little Worm the raw silk weaves,
Which feeds upon the mulberry leaves;
She gives the gauze so soft and bright,
Spinning it both by day and night.
The dyer next, to nature true,
Gives it ev'ry tint and hue;
For first 'tis of a colour light,
And soft as down, and almost white.
The winder, sitting by her wheel,
Then coils the threads, with rock and reel,
That the weaver may not find
A check to his inventive mind;
Who soon, with industry and art,
And shuttle swift performs his part;
And from his humble chamber brings
What oft adorns both queens and kings.
Q. But last of all, we pray you, tell,
What places in this art excel;
'That all we children here may know,
And tell our friends when home we go?
A. Coventry has the ribbon trade;
Stockings at Nottingham are made;
And every place in England yields
For webs of silk to Spitalfields.
ON THE ADDER.
The adder's eighteen inches long,
With fiery eyes and cloven tongue;
Beneath its hollow teeth is found
Poison to cast into the wound.
It's scales appear like polish'd steel;
It lurks to bite the horse's heel
Whilst sprightly on the road he trots:
It's back is mark'd with square dark spots.
An adder once, out of some sticks,
On an Apostle's hand did fix,
But off the reptile quick he shook,
And from its bite no harm he took.
ON FISH AND INSECTS.
The monstrous whale, pierc'd with harpoon,
With danger, care, and toil,
Is haul'd to land, when cut up soon,
The blubber's boil'd for oil.
The turtle is a grandee's dish,
A coat of mail he wears;
The shark eats up the little fish,
And often man he tears.
The lobster's black-when boil'd, he's red;
The plaice is orange-speck'd;
The cod-fish has a clumsy head;
The mack'rel's richly deck'd.
Th' industrious bee brings honey home,
Sipp'd from the op'ning flower;
The little ant abroad will roam,
To seek its winter store.
The lady-made by silk so fine-
A little worm may thank;
The glow-worm's lanthorn tail doth shine
At night, while on the bank.
The child, who does not these things know,
May well be call'd a dunce;
But let us all in knowledge grow,
As youth can come but once.
Mention an animal that has a trunk?
With a beard? A Goat.
With along neck? An Ostrich.
One that stings? A Bee.
One that flies? A Bird.
One that creeps? A Snail.
One that roars? A Lion.
One that grunts? A Swine.
One that barks? A Dog.
One that mews? A Cat.
One that coos? A Pigeon.
One that crows? A Cock.
One that chucks? A Hen.
One that howls? A Wolf.
One that squeaks? A Pig.
One that sings? A Canary.
One that hops? A Sparrow.
One that struts? A Peacock.
One that crawls? A Maggot.
One that neighs? A Horse.
One that brays? An Ass.
One that bleats? A Sheep.
One that quacks? A Duck.
One that gabbles? A Goose.
One that bellows? A Bull.
One that hoots? An Owl.
One that buzzes? A Bee.
One that screams? A Lapwing.
One that hisses? A Serpent.
One that chirps? A Sparrow.
One that chatters? A Monkey.
Wheat, when reap'd, hous'd, and thresh'd, is sent to the mill,
Where 'tis ground into flour, 'tis said;
This, with yeast, salt, and water, our ovens we fill,
And bake into nice loaves of bread.
And barley comes next, a sweet wholesome grain,
Steep'd in water, then expos'd to great heat,
Makes malt; which, with hops and hot water, again,
Makes beer, ale, and porter, so sweet.
The next grain we mention is oats, which we give
To our horses, their favourite food:
Ground oats we call oatmeal, and some people live
On cakes made from this, which are good.
Then rye, beans, and peas, follow next in their course
The first oft is made into bread;
Ground beans, mix'd with oats, we give to the horse;
Pigs, with peas, are well fatted and fed.
Thus, again, my dear children, you plainly may see
God's goodness to man, and to beast;
To us he gives reason-then, oh! may not we
Be those who would love him the least.
ON THE DAISY.
The daisy is a little flower,
Tho' common and forgot,
Its simple beauties I admire-
Now, children, do you not?
Some thoughtless children handsfull pick,
Then toss them all in fun,
Without discerning in them all
What I can see in one.
For, look, my little playmates, now,
While I dissect this weed;
There is a name for every part,
These little white things petals are,
The green are calix call'd;
The centre's full of florets fair,
The seeds therein enroll'd.
The roots, if I should show them now,
Are white, and hollow, too,
To suck the juices from the earth,
And cause the plant to grow.
Then view the works of God so great,
Look on, and Him adore;
He's in the sky, He's in the earth,
He's in this simple flower.
This lesson, then, should teach us all
To love what God has made
In heaven above, or earth below,
Or daisies in the shade.
"To view the structure of that little work
Mark it well within-without;
No tool had he that wrought; no knife to cut;
No nail to fix; no needle to sew with;
No glue to join; his little beak was all ;
And yet how neatly finished!
With every kind of tool to work with,
And twenty years' apprenticeship to boot,
Could make me such another?" No, my friends,
For it was God who taught the little bird
How to build so neat and soft a nest;
And the sly fox, too, how to make his hole
So deep and warm, where he may lie secure.
For thus it is written in the Bible!
Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air
Have nests; but the Son of Man hath not where
To lay his head. And who was that Son of
The Lion of the Tribe of Judah!
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