At last, a little dove was forth
From that lone vessel sent;
But, wearied, to the ark again,
When evening came, she bent.
Again she went, but soon returned,
And in her beak was seen
A little twig--an olive-branch--
With leaves of shining green.
The waters sank, and then the dove
Flew from the ark once more,
And came not back, but lived among
The tree-tops, as before.
Then from the ark they all came forth,
With songs of joy and praise;
And once again the green earth smiled
Beneath the sun's warm rays.
THE BEE.
[Illustration]
Now, Ellen, stop screaming and running away,
And come here and listen to me;
Is it true, my dear daughter, I want you to say,
That you're foolishly scared by a bee?
The bee is as frightened as you are, my dear,
For he can't tell the way to get out;
And as for his sting, that you never need fear,
If you do not run crying about.
If you were to catch him, why, then, I dare say
You'd soon feel his sharp little sting;
But if you sit still at your work or your play,
Be sure that no harm he will bring.
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