Windmills.

Two neighbors, living on a hill, Had each — and side by side — a mill. The one was Jones,— a thrifty wight — Whose mill in every wind went right.

The storm and tempest vainly spent Their rage upon it — round it went! E'en when the summer breeze was light, The whirling wings performed their flight;

And hence a village saying rose — “As sure as Jones's mill, it goes.” Not so with neighbor Smith's — close by; Full half the time it would not ply:

Save only when the wind was west, Still as a post it stood at rest. By every tempest it was battered, By every thundergust‘ twas shattered;

Through many a rent the rain did filter; And, fair or foul,‘ twas out of kilter; And thus the saying came at last — “Smith's mill is made for folks that fast.”

Now, who can read this riddle right? Two mills are standing on a height — One whirling brisk, whate'er the weather, The other, idle, weeks together!

Come, gentle reader, lend thine ear, And thou the simple truth shalt hear; And mark,— for here the moral lurks,— Smith held to faith, but not to works;

While Jones believed in both, and so, By faith and practice, made it go! Smith prayed, and straight sent in his bill, Expecting Heaven to tend his mill;

And grumbled sore, whene'er he found That wheels ungreased would not go round. Not so with Jones — for, though as prayerful, To grease his wheels he e'er was careful,

And healed, with ready stitch, each rent That ruthless time or tempest sent; And thus, by works, his faith expressed, Good neighbor Jones by Heaven was blessed.