THE LAST OF THE FLOCK.

In distant countries I have been,

And yet I have not often seen

A healthy man, a man full grown

Weep in the public roads alone.

But such a one, on English ground,

And in the broad high-way, I met;

Along the broad high-way he came,

His cheeks with tears were wet.

Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;

And in his arms a lamb he had.

He saw me, and he turned aside,

As if he wished himself to hide:

Then with his coat he made essay

To wipe those briny tears away.

I followd him, and said, "My friend

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