The White Nove.

The White Nove.
265.2

Shall I tell a story. darling?
I know one very old.
I For when I very was a little child
I used to hear it told.
It is about a little boy
And the pigeons which he sold.

His mother she was very poor
And kept a rich man’s gate:
Until he carriages passed through
There Jacob had to wait.

Now, Jacob was a patient lad.
A loving. faithful son:
Of all the things the rich man had
He wanted only one.

A pigeon with a crusted head
And feathers soft an silk,
With crimson feet and crimson bill,
And breast as white as milk.

He had some pigeons of his own;
He loved them very well:
But, then, his mother was so poor
He reared them all to sell.

He kept them in a little shed
That sloped down from the roofs
Great trouble had he every spring
To make it waterproof,

He used to count them every day
To see he had them all;
They knew his footstep when he came,
And answered to his call.

And one-a chocolate colored hen- Was prettier than the rest,
Because there was a globe like gold
All round its throat and breast.

You know, the little birds in spring
Balld houses, where they dwell.
And feed and rear their little ones.
And love each other well.

So the black pigeons Jacob had
Were mated with the gray.
And crested crown and ring neck made
Their next the first of May.

The Lord had made each little bird
To love and need a male.
And so the little chocolate hen
Was very desolate.

And Jacob thought if he could get
The rich man’s milk white dove.
And keep it always for his own- Now, Ilsten to me, love:

He wanted that which was not his,
That which another had.
And so a great temptation grew
Around the little lad.

The rich man had whole flocks of birds,
And Jacob reasoned so
“If I should take this one white dove.
How could he ever know?

“Among ao many, can he mise
The one which I should take?
Antong so many, many birds.
What difference can it make?”

But, darling, even while his heart
Throbbed with these wisnes strong.
Amething always troubles him- He knows that it was wrong.

Bo time passed on; he watched the dove- How every day it came
Nearer and nearer to the shed,
More gentle and more tame.

He watched it with a longing eye;
At last one summer day
He saw it gettle on the roof,
As if it meant to stay.

Now, Jacob seemed a happy boy.
Said he: “It has a rigat
То снове a dwelling anywhere
Most pleasant in its sight.”

And so he scattered grains of corn
And crumbs of wheaten bread.
Because he thought the dove would stay
Where it was kindly fed.

As time passed on the milk white dove,
Well pleased with Jacob’s care,
Soon learned to know him like the rest,
And seemed right happy there.

One morning he had called them all
Around him to be fed.
And on the ground he scattered corn,
And peas, and crumbs of bread.

When, all at once, he heard a man
Outside the rond gate call:
“Boy, If these pigeons are for sale.
I think I’ll take them all.”

All! How It smote on Jacob’s ear.
“I see there are but eight.
If you will take eight shillinga down,
I’ll pay you at that rate.

Now, at that moment all the birds
Were feeding in the sun;
But Jacob, In his startled heart,
Could thing of only one.

And never since the milk white bird
Had Joined the chocolate hen
Had he felt in his innocent heart
As he was feeling then.

“Come, hurry hurry!” said the man:
“I have no time to lose:
Between the shillings and the birds
It can’t be hard to choose.”

Poor Jacob, having once begun
To do what was not right,
Forgetting he was standing In
His Heavenly Father’s sight,

And knowing how his mother had
A quarter’s rent to pay.
Felt in his heart the sense of right
Was fading fast away;

When from the open cottage door
There came a murmuring low:
It was his mother’s morning hymn,
Solemn, and sweet, and alow.

He listened, and a holy fear
Was wakened in his heart.
And strength was given him that hour
To choose the better part.

Then, turning to the stranger man
A frank, untroubled eye.
He said: “But seven birds are mine- But seven you can buy.”

“Oh,” said the man, “they go in pairs,
And will not suit me, then.
So Jacob Bold him only.six.
And kept the chocolate hen.

And when the evening shadows came
And dew was on the grass
He watched outside the garden gate
To see the rich man pasa.

Close to his breast the milk white dove
He held with gentle care,
While many a soft caress he laid
Coon its feathers fair.

And when at last the rich man came,
Poor Jacob, rendered bold
By feeling he was in the right,
His arless story told.

Then after he had owred to all
The wrong which he had done.
And the worst wrong he wished to do.
He lifted to the sun

A happy, open, fearless face,
Waich won the rich man’s love,
Who kindly bade him always keep
For his the milk white dove.

Soon Jacob, once more good and true,
Stood in his mother’s sight.
The struggle of temptation past,
The wrong all turned to right.

And, with his troubled heart at rest.
Lay down upon his bed.
And whiter wings than his white dove
Were round his pillow spread.