Chapter 33 THE CRY AT MIDNIGHT.

The Midge's wing beats to and fro

A thousand times ere one can utter 'O!'

And Sirius' ball

Does on his business run

As many times immenser than the Sun.

Why should things not be great as well as small,

Or move like light as well as move at all?

St. Michael fills his place, I mine, and, if you please,

We will respect each oth