By Mrs. Martha Perry Lowe.

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RUN along thy pastures, happy, happy brook,

Run along the pebbles, with a curvet and a

crook,

Sing it all the morning, and sing it afternoon,

Sing it all the starry night—that pleasant little

tune!

Are you growing modest, do you think that I shall

tire?

Do you fear that I shall go and look for something

higher?

Well I know the noisy world has music grand enough,

But I do not care for all its preludes, wild and

rough.

Well I know other music, solemn and sublime,

Voices of the ocean sounding all the depths of

time:

That is not the music I am looking for to-day,

It is you I want to hear, so frolicsome and gay.

Do not ever try to practise any modern art,

Do not even stop to think or care about your part,

Sing just as you always do, when there are none to

hear,

That will surely be the sweetest way to please my ear.

Ah, my little brook! how foolish was my thought:

All the praises of the worldling can disturb you naught.

Nothing can mislead you, or set you ill at ease,

Make you think about yourself, or of the way

to please.

Not a little fish could have made such a speech,

Not a shining fly that skims along your beach,

Not a little bird would have said such a thing—

Pardon me my foolishness, and sing again, sing!

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