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freely by teachers everywhere.
By Mrs Christine Chaplin Brush.
One single grain of corn took root
Beside the garden walk;
"Oh, let it stay," said little May,
"I want it for my stalk."
And there is grew, until the leaves
Waved in the summer light;
All day it rocked the baby ear,
And wrapped it warm at night.
And then the yellow corn-like silk came--
A skein of silken thread:
It was as pretty as the hair
Upon the baby's head.
Alas! one time, in idle mood,
May pulled the silk away,
And then forgot her treasured stalk
For many a summer day.
At last she said, "I'm sure my corn
Is ripe enough to eat;
In even rows the kernels lie,
All white, and juicy sweet."
Ah me! they all were black and dry,
Were withered long ago;
"What was the naughty corn about,"
She said, "to cheat me so!"
She did not guess the silken threads
Were slender pipes to lead
the food the tasselled blossom shook
To each small kernel's need.
The work her foolish finger wrought
Was shorter than a breath;
Yet every milky kernel then
Began to starve to death!
So, list my little children all,
This simple lesson heed:
That many a grief and sin has come
From one small thoughtless deed.