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Perhaps it gave one envious glance

Upon the Fountain's height.

While glittering in the morning's rays,

Pre-eminently bright.

In all the colours of the sky

Alternately it shone:

The Brook observed with a sigh

But quietly rolled on.

The owner of the Fountain died;

Neglect soon brought decay:

The bursting pipes were ill-supplied:

The Fountain ceased to play.

But still the Brook her peaceful course

Continued to pursue;

Her ample, inexhaustive source

From nature's fount she drew.

"Now," said the Brook, "I bless my fate,

My showy rival gone;

Contented in its native state

My little stream rolls on.

And all the world has cause, indeed.

To own, with grateful heart.

How much great Nature's work excels