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The little, yet the great laborious Bee
Is ſingular for its great Induſtry,
In Summer ſhews ſuch Diligence and Care,
It wings its Way thro' tractleſs Paths of Air;
Some diſtant Miles out from its little Dome,
In queſt of Flowers throughout the Fields doth roam;
From all the various Flowers it lights upon,
Of different Taſte, it nothing ſucks but one;
Their Taſte however vaſtly oppoſite,
Is by the Genius of the Bee unite,
Who from the bitter ſtill doth ſuck the ſweet
When fully freighted, then it doth go home
With all its Store in to the Honey-comb,
And for the Work the little Bee hath there,
Excels the greatest Artiſt to compare.
Thus I've given now a brief Relation
Of ſome few Creatures of the wing'd Creation,
Inſiſt what need I further on this Theme,
When all of them at once aloud proclaim
Greatneſs unto their great Creator's Name.
And on this Day the Fowls they did poſſeſs,
This World alone in greateſt Quietneſs,
Some in the Buſh, ſome in the open Air,
Free from the Fowler's Gin and ſubtile Snare.
But as the Fowls that fly in Air above,
Even ſo the Fiſh that in the Deeps do move,
From ſacred Writ we are aſſur'd that they
Created were alſo on the fifth Day.
As for the Waters wonderful of Spring,
That divine Power did there to Being bring';
Who's he again that's able to declare,
Or ſpeak of all the Creatures that are there?
Their
