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In grave-yard green may now be seen
O'er Johnnie's grave a stone,
And letters fair engraven there
His name and age make known.
GOD, THE GREAT CREATOR.
"Dear mother," one morning a little boy said,
"Pray tell me by whom this fine country was made;
At home in our town, where the houses are thick,
I know how they make them of timber and brick.
"I have seen how the mason and carpenter, too,
With trowel and hammer their labors pursue;
But not half so fine do their works all appear
As doth the fair covering that's everywhere here.
"How lovely this grass with the flowers so sweet!
Nor do I remember a house in the street
So high as that tree where the little bird sings;
Did God, dearest mother, make all these fine things."
