[Illustration: T.]

'Twas morning, and the pleasant light
Shone on the hills, the trees, the flowers,
And made a far-off country bright,
A lovely land, but not like ours.

A mother led her little child
Forth from his father's door away;
And with the flowers he played, and smiled
As beautiful and bright as they.

But when, at noon, the warm sun beat
Upon the sweet boy's forehead fair,
Tired and thirsty from the heat,
He asked in vain for water there.

The bottle, filled with water clear
At early day, was empty now;
The mother laid her child so dear
Beneath an old tree's spreading bough.

She turned away, and heard the sound
Of water, gushing like the rain;
She raised her boy from off the ground,
He drank, and played and smiled again.

They travelled on for many a day,
The mother and her little child;