. Original poems, for infant minds . His dim eye is sunk in his head, And wrinkles deep furrow his brow ; Animation and vigour are fled,And yield to infirmity now. Little strangers, his name is Old Age,His journey will shortly be oer, He soon will leave lifes busy stage,To be torn by affliction no more. Little strangers ! though healthy and strong You now all adversity brave,Like him you must totter ere long, Like him you must sink to the grave. Those limbs that so actively play, That face beaming pleasure and mirth, Likehis must drop into decay,And moulder away in the earth. Then ere that dar
. Original poems, for infant minds . His dim eye is sunk in his head, And wrinkles deep furrow his brow ; Animation and vigour are fled,And yield to infirmity now. Little strangers, his name is Old Age,His journey will shortly be oer, He soon will leave lifes busy stage,To be torn by affliction no more. Little strangers ! though healthy and strong You now all adversity brave,Like him you must totter ere long, Like him you must sink to the grave. Those limbs that so actively play, That face beaming pleasure and mirth, Likehis must drop into decay,And moulder away in the earth. Then ere that dark season of nightWhen youth and its energies cease, 0 ! follow with zeal and delight,Those paths that are pleasure and peace. FOR INFANT MINDS. 31 So triumph and hope shall be nigh,When failing and fainting your breath Twil light a bright spark in your eye,As it closes for ever in THE APPLE TREE. OLD John had an apple-tree, healthy and green,Which bore the best codlins that ever was seen, So juicy, so mellow, and red ;And when they were ripe, as old Johnny was poor,He sold them to children that passed by his door, To buy him a morsel of bread. Little Dick, his next neighbour, one often might see,With longing eye viewing this nice apple-tree, And wishing a codlin would fall;One day, as he stood in the heat of the sun,He began thinking whether he might not take one, And then he lookd over the wall. And as he again cast his eye on the tree, He said to himself, 0, how nice they would be, So cool and refreshing to-day !The tree is so full, and Id only take one,And old John wont see, for he is not at home, And nobody is in the way. 38 ORIGINAL POEMS, But stop, little boy, take thy hand from the bough,Remember, though old John cant see you just now And no one to chide thee is nigh,There is ONE, who by night just as well as by day,Can see all you do, and can hear all y
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