Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages - Various - Страница 10

'Tis the voice of a sluggard; I heard him complain—

"You have waked me too soon; I must slumber again;"

As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed,

Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head.

"A little more sleep, and a little more slumber"—

Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number;

And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands,

Or walks about saunt'ring, or trifling he stands.

I passed by his garden, and saw the wild brier

The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher;

The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags;

And his money still wastes till he starves or he begs.

I made him a visit, still hoping to find

That he took better care for improving his mind;

He told me his dreams, talked of eating and drinking,

But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking.

Said I then to my heart: "Here's a lesson for me;

That man's but a picture of what I might be;

But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding,

Who taught me betimes to love working and reading."

Isaac Watts

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