thirst the creature lay,
A panting, woollen heap.

But help is nearer than we know
For ills of every name;
Ragged enough to scare the crow,
But with a heart to pity woe,
A quick-eyed urchin came.

Little he knew of field or fold,
Yet knew enough; his cap
Was just the cap for water cold--
He knew what it could do of old;
Its rents were few, good hap!

Shaping the brim and crown he went,
Till crown from brim was deep.
The water ran from brim and rent;
Before he came the half was spent--
The half, it saved the sheep.

O, little goat, born, bred in ill,
Unwashed, ill-fed, unshorn!
Thou meet'st the sheep from breezy hill,
Apostle of thy Saviour's will,
In London wastes forlorn.

Let others say the thing they please,
My faith, though very dim,
Thinks He will say who always sees,
In doing it to one of these
Thou didst it unto him.

FROM BAD TO WORSE.

Come, children, leave your playing,
And gather round my knee,
And I'll tell you a little story:
Away across the sea,
In a meadow where the mosses
And the grass were frozen brown,
Three little maids sat milking
One day as the sun went down--
Not cows, but goats of the mountain;
And before their pails were full,
The winds, they pierced like needles
Through their gowns of heavy wool.
And as one hand, then the other,
They tried to warm in their laps,
The bitter weather froze their breath
Like fur about their caps.
And so, as they sat at their milking,
They grew as still as mice,
Save when the stiff shoes on their feet
Rattled like shoes of ice.

At last out spoke the youngest
As she blew on her finger-nails:
I have planned a plan, sweet sisters:
Let us take our milking-pails,
And go to the side of the mountain
As fast as we can go,
And heap them up to the very top
From the whitest drifts of snow;
And let us build in the meadow
Where we will milk our goats at night
A house to keep us from the cold,
With walls all silver white.

We will set the door away from the wind.
The floor we will heap with moss,
And gather little strips of ice
And shingle the roof across.

Then all the foolish maidens,
They emptied their pails on the groun