Windmills.

Two neighbors, living on a hill,

Had each — and side by side — a mill.

The one was Jones,— a thrifty wight —

Whose mill in every wind went right.

The storm and tempest vainly spent

Their rage upon it — round it went!

E'en when the summer breeze was light,

The whirling wings performed their flight;

And hence a village saying rose —

“As sure as Jones's mill, it goes.”

Not so with neighbor Smith's — close by;

Full half the time it would not ply:

Save only when the wind was west,

Still as a post it stood at rest.

By every tempest it was battered,

By every thundergust‘ twas shattered;

Through many a rent the rain did filter;

And, fair or foul,‘ twas out of kilter;

And thus the saying came at last —

“Smith's mill is made for folks that fast.”

Now, who can read this riddle right?

Two mills are standing on a height —

One whirling brisk, whate'er the weather,

The other, idle, weeks together!

Come, gentle reader, lend thine ear,

And thou the simple truth shalt hear;

And mark,— for here the moral lurks,—

Smith held to faith, but not to works;

While Jones believed in both, and so,

By faith and practice, made it go!

Smith prayed, and straight sent in his bill,

Expecting Heaven to tend his mill;

And grumbled sore, whene'er he found

That wheels ungreased would not go round.

Not so with Jones — for, though as prayerful,

To grease his wheels he e'er was careful,

And healed, with ready stitch, each rent

That ruthless time or tempest sent;

And thus, by works, his faith expressed,

Good neighbor Jones by Heaven was blessed.