See

The serpent mount the pyre,

To the consuming fire.

Which on the pilgrim's way,

Should work its own decay.

God will His fire impart,

From every willing heart.

[33]

[33]

THE FOOLISH COLT.

THE FOOLISH COLT.

This

Aweary of its pasture rich,

For nettles in the dusty ditch.

[34]

What we have not is our desire;

The little prince who screamed for mire.

TROUTS.

TROUTS.

With

 Prev. P 29/78 next