HIS SONG TO A RILL.

Swiftly flowing, gentle Rill,

Murm'ring softly down this hill,

Oft I list thy charming voice,

At the bright and early morn,

As the Sun comes from the East,

While his beams these scenes adorn,

To furnish minds like mine a feast.

Sweetly musical, pure Rill,

Thou dost me with pleasure fill.

As I note thy varied charms

Dulcet sounds fall on my ear,

Soothing much a saddened heart;

Easing me of grief and fear,

Till I grieve from thee to part.

Modest, unassuming Rill,

Thou art formed by matchless skill.

Grace and beauty are displayed

In thy ever-smiling face

And the objects which surround

This thy home; where I can trace

Traits to make this hallowed ground.

Lively, joyous, trickling Rill!

As I gaze upon thee still,

Wanders back my mind afar

To those haunts of boyish days,

When my young and ardent soul

Warbled forth its earnest lays,

Gladly following Nature's call.

Glittering, dancing, pearly Rill!

Thou dost well thy Maker's will

In regarding his behest.

Teaching Christians all the way

They must take to please their God;

Lest in dangerous paths they stray,

And bring upon themselves his Rod.

Swiftly flowing, gentle Rill,

Murm'ring softly down this hill,

I must bid thee now farewell;

Other scenes my presence claim.

My dear Master's work demands

What will bring no earthly fame —

The labor of my heart and hands.