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THE LITTLE PILGRIM.
THE STORY OF A LITTLE GIRL WHO TRIED TO GO ON PILGRIMAGE.
IN a large old house, with two kind aunts,
The little Marian dwelt;
And a happy child she was, I ween,
For though at times she felt
That playmates would be better far
Than either birds or flowers,
Yet her kind old aunts, and story books,
Soothed many lonely hours.
Her favorite haunt, in the summer-time,
Was a large old apple-tree;
And oft amid the boughs she sat.
With her pet book on her knee.
The "Pilgrim's Progress" was its name,
And Marian loved it much;
It is, indeed, a glorious book,
There are not many such!
She read it in her little bed,
Beside the winter fire.
And in summer-time, in the apple-tree,
As though she would never tire.
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