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The little shining speckl'd swarm,
In thy kind bosom dread no harm ;
The lily, by thy border side,
Sips nourishment from out thy tide.
Peace—peace and happiness are thine—
Oh ! may thy quiet lot be mine.
But should ambition cause thee glide
To seek some ocean's swelling tide,
Thy pleasing powers to aid might cease,
Thy means of injury increase—
Thy placid stream—thy gentle breast,
With ill.sought power would know no rest.
Thou emblem of the life of man, Teach him this moral deep to scan— That he's endu'd with ecpial means, To practise good in humble scenes— The ambitious state he would prefer Increases but the power—to err.
Care knows not the lad that is merry
Whose heart's in his rod,
Whose flies are his god,
He's plump and red as a.cherry.