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Oh, while fishing lasts enjoy it,
Let us to the streams repair; Snatch some hours from toil and study,
Nature's blessed gifts to share. Ye who stand behind the counter,
Or grone palled at the loom, Leave the measure and the shuttle,
Come to the rippling stream, come.
He that clothed their banks with verdure,
Dotted them with various flowers; Meant that ye, though doom'd to labour,
Should enjoy some cheering hours. Wipe your reeking brows and with us,
With you're basket and your rod ; And with happy hearts look up from
Nature unto Nature's God.
THE FISHERMAN AND THE LITTLE FISH.
The smallest fry grow fish in time, If not cut off before their prime ;
jiut he that throws them in the stream, In hopes when grown to take again,
Will very likely lose his aim, And bait his hook in vain.