THE PET LAMB.

ONE chilly morning in the spring,
When all was still and calm,

George listened, for he thought he heard
The bleating of a lamb.

Rover was with him at the time;
'T was plain he heard it too,
He looked so earnest, pricked his ears,
As dogs will always do.

"T was not the usual tone of lambs,
But sorrowful and weak;

And George ran quickly to the fold,
The moaning one to seek.

THE PET LAMB.

There stood a little shivering lamb,
Close where his mother laid;

She could not hear her lambkin cry,
Alas, for she was dead!

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George took the poor, forsaken thing,
And bade him fear no harm,
And carried him into the house,

And tried to make him warm.

He

gave him nice sweet milk to eat, And told him to be good;

And Rover gave him kindly looks,
While Georgie gave him food.

At last the lamb laid down to sleep,
And Rover by him kept,

And watched him close, as if he feared
Some danger, while he slept.

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THE PET LAMB.

And what the little guileless lamb,

As he slept sweetly there,

Was dreaming of, we cannot tell —

Perhaps of his mamma.

And when he woke, he was refreshed,

And soon began to play,

And trustingly in George's hands,
His little head would lay.

And Georgie loved him very much,

He was so mild and tame,

And kept him from the meadows damp,
Till summer breezes came.

He followed him within the house,

About the garden too,

And round his white and woolly neck,
George tied a ribbon blue.

THE PET LAMB.

And when into the grassy field

They sent him far away,

Thinking he'd like with other lambs,
To frisk about and play,

He seemed so sad and sorrowful,

With melancholy air,

That Rover would beside him stay
To make him happy there.

But soon as Rover turned to go,
And homeward bend his way,

The lamb would look at him and bleat,
And beg him still to stay.

Then he would follow Rover home,

And seem in ecstasy,

When George caressed and patted him,

As full of joy as he.

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THE PET LAMB.

And time went on, and I could tell
How fast the lambkin grew,

And that he still continued fond
Of George and Rover too.

And in the pleasant summer time,
They were together hours,

In field and meadow, by the brook,
Among the grass and flowers.

My story's done. May you be like

The lamb, so meek and mild,
As grateful and affectionate;
A pure and spotless child.

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