THE PLACE OF REST.
I asked a laughing, romping child: "Where is a place of rest?"She tossed her curls in a pretty way,And said: "When I am tired of play I lean on mother's breast."
I asked a boy on his way to school: "Do you know a place of rest?"He dropped a stick he was whittling then,But said, as he picked it up again: "Our old playground 's the best."
I wandered on in my weary walk, Foot-sore, with aching breast;"Oh! where," I asked of a busy man,—"Do tell me, sir, if indeed you can, A place where I may rest?"
He stopped, with a lofty look of pride: "Ah! stranger, you but jest;
