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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
NATUf^E'S MUSINGS 
 
 J. WHiTFIEhD GREE]M 
 
iTHE LIBFJAPJY OF 
 
 CONGRESS, 
 |T\»o CiiPi^ Rgceweo 
 
 COPY B- 
 
 Copyright, 1903, by J. Whitfield Green 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERA'Er) 
 

 
 PREFACE 
 
 AVhat is nature but the unfolding of God's love? 
 What are tlowers but His smiles? What are winds 
 but His whispers? What is the dew but the tears of 
 heaven? She has a thousand ways to charm us, do 
 we but see them and understand; and yet. with all 
 the learning we may in any way possess we are but 
 infants in the cradle of her great heart, be it calm 
 or storm, sunshine or shadow, night or day. or any 
 one of her many changes; it is but the vibration of 
 a great harp tuned to to the melodies of heaven, and 
 in her mountains, fields and skies a healing balm for 
 the worn and weary. 
 
 She always has the same sweet smile 
 For those who love her true. 
 
INDEX 
 
 P(U)e 
 
 A Question ^8 
 
 Autumn Time is My Time 44 
 
 Awake, A umke 61 
 
 Away in the Con utry -.38 
 
 Baby Ltnid . 42 
 
 Bea uty of tJie Woods 6'7 
 
 Breathe iioin the Winds 6H 
 
 Bring ISireet Flowers 50 
 
 Dear Old i^pring 19 
 
 Fading Leaoes 62 
 
 Fall 14 
 
 Falling Lea res 75 
 
 Flowers 21 
 
 Hark to the Winds 34 
 
 Home To- Day 77 
 
 / Heard Him 8lng 26 
 
 I Long for the Fields ' 16 
 
 Lullaby 57 
 
 Morning 58 
 
 Morning— Prose 11 
 
 Mnsings 12 
 
 No More 83 
 
INDEX 5 
 
 October 49 
 
 Old Hongs 40 
 
 On the Dear Old HiUs of Elba 8 
 
 O ThaV.s the Life for Yon, my Lad 10 
 
 Sad Fall Days 48 
 
 ^September 23 
 
 Sleej) of tlie Floaters SO 
 
 Spring 25 
 
 Summer c2 
 
 Summer Songs 60 
 
 The First Robin 27 
 
 The Gales that Blofv 29 
 
 The Old Pasture Bars 17 
 
 The Seaso)is 80 
 
 To Be in the Fields.. 7 
 
 Voices 52 
 
 When the Harvest Bays are O'er 65 . 
 
 When the Heart Beats Sad 46 
 
 When the Last Hour 20 
 
 When the Misty Haze 72 
 
 W/ien n^e Were Boys 36 
 
 Wliere Sleep the Lj Hies 59 
 
 Where Summer Vies 82 
 
 While I Sleep 64 
 
 Wh is I >e ring Winds 22 
 
 WhohasaHeartf 24 
 
 Ye Pleasant Hills 54 
 
To him who in the love of nature holds 
 Communion with her visible forms 
 She speaks a various language." 
 
 W. C. Bi'ijiiiit. 
 
TO BK IN THE FIELDS 
 
 To be in the fields, and to have my home 
 Where the insects hum and the wild birds roam: 
 Where the bee on the big red clover tops — 
 For such is a world of sweets to him— 
 Here heaven sheds her dewy tears 
 And fairest flowers— the world's bright gems— 
 The fresh young air, laden down 
 With distilled nectar from the bower. 
 And O, these hours from summer's heart- 
 To be in the fields and have my home 
 Where the insects hum and the wild birds roam. 
 
ON THE DEAR OLD HILLS OF ELBA 
 
 On the dear old hills of Elba, 
 
 Where I lived in youth's bright hours; 
 On those dear old hills we wandered— 
 Gathered summer's choicest flowers; 
 Free the birds were flying o'er me, 
 
 Free, my heart knew not a pain- 
 On the dear old hills of Elba- 
 May I wander there again. 
 
 Oft I've wandered my loved home land 
 
 In the shady, cool retreat 
 Where the brook sang to the meadow 
 
 And the spring gushed at my feet; 
 Wandered there with those that loved me- 
 
 Sister, brother, playmates kind; 
 On the dear old hills of Elba 
 
 All of life's pure joys I (ind. 
 
 On thy sparkling waters, Nippsing, 
 
 Pleasant lake, so clear and sweet, 
 In our boat we've furrowed o'er thee. 
 
 Happy hearts of youth to greet; 
 And the whispering winds that murmur 
 
 Made thy crystal bosom swell- 
 On the dear old hills of Elba, 
 
 By thy shores. O may 1 dwell. 
 
ox THK DEAR OLD HILLS OF ]:LJ'>A 
 
 On the dear old hills of Elba. 
 
 In my closing years of life. 
 May 1 dwell in quiet comfort 
 
 From the world's cold care and strife; 
 May I roam the same old play-ground 
 
 Where my youth passed quickly by: 
 On the dear old hills of Elba; 
 
 May 1 rest there when I die. 
 
O THAT'S THE LIFE FOR YOU, MY LAD 
 
 O that's the life for you, my lad, 
 
 O that's the life for me; 
 Where wild woods laugh the hours away 
 
 And hurrying wiuds blow free; 
 Where birds skim on the meadows gay, 
 
 Chanting their songs of glee; 
 O that's the life for you, my lad, 
 
 O that's the life for me. 
 
 O that's the life, my happy lad, 
 
 Where fields so broad and green. 
 Filled with the red topped clover sweet 
 
 And daisies in between; 
 Tall honeysuckles in the hedge. 
 
 Feeding the busy V;ee — 
 O that's the life for you, my lad. 
 
 O that's the life for me. 
 
O THAT'S THE LIFE FOR YOU, MY LAD 11 
 
 O that's the life, my brawny lad, 
 
 Free as the winds that blow; 
 Chasing the herd o'er hill and vale 
 
 And whistling as yon go. 
 Health, wealth and beanty, side by side, 
 
 Give of their treasnres free— 
 O that's the life, my brawny lad, 
 
 O that's the life for me. 
 
 Then shout hurrah for the country boy, 
 
 Come, let us ever stay 
 Where pleasant fields and shady woods 
 
 With birds are always gay; 
 All nature sweet, with smiles to greet. 
 
 So happy and so free— 
 O that's the life for you, my lad, 
 
 () that's the life for me. 
 
MUSINGS 
 
 Dear brown October can we but love 
 Thy deep blue skies with sun's rays 
 Toned to a gentle heat, 
 And somber forests turned from green 
 To tlaming gold. 
 
 How^ strange the groves they look 
 In such bright forms: 
 They tling their banners out 
 To every breeze to learn 
 Their w^aiting fate. 
 
 The tields, how sweet they sleep 
 After the burden of the summer's o'er. 
 The drowsy bee hums o'er them 
 But now no sweets he wings 
 With him away. 
 
 And ye peaceful hills 
 Robed in your garment of blue haze, 
 J3id the farewell tlowers no more 
 Deck your fair brow. 
 
MUSINGS i:^ 
 
 The birds had tlown, but still 
 The quail ])ipes dreamy, 
 And the whippoor-will makes gay 
 The evening hour. 
 
 The sauntering herds 
 
 At the dim twilight lay them down 
 
 To slumber o'er the memory 
 
 Of the past. 
 
 Old October, draw your curtain low, 
 For thou art mediator, 
 Bidding farewell to life and welcoming 
 The death of winter's blasts. 
 
FALL 
 
 O these sad days of fall, n 
 
 When skies are dreary and the winds beat low, 
 
 The leaves are falling, let them go 
 
 Back to their mother earth, t'was she who gave 
 
 The cool sweet shade to rest the plodding slave: 
 
 But I'm in sorrow when the old oaks tall. 
 
 Shed all their beauty in these days of fall. 
 
 To walk the stubbled tields 
 
 And hear the quail in his feared dream ings of the 
 
 winter's hour. 
 The drumming pheasant thunder in the vale, 
 Where cheerless sunbeams pierce the leafless bovver, 
 Low on the forest's mossy bed there lie 
 Those pretty tlow^ers that smiled at summer skies; 
 For they have gone to sleep and with them w^e must 
 
 weep. 
 
 It was not long ere all the pleasant fields 
 
 Flung out their banners bright with waving gold; 
 
 But soon the reapers came with sickle keen 
 
FALL 15 
 
 And gathered all their treasure in the fold. 
 \Miere nodded the fresh clover in the breeze, 
 Now thrums the beetle in his drowsy tlight, 
 And where the garden bloomed 'neath every sun. 
 Now sings the cricket shrill through all the night. 
 
 The tassled corn, swayed gently by the breeze, 
 Whispers its rustic tones to all the held; 
 Within the garment husk concealed secure 
 The golden grain, the freighted stalk must yield; 
 And how the reapers on some autumn morn 
 ANould come while yet the dew was on the plain. 
 Would sing their cheery song through all the day, 
 And then at starry eve return again. 
 
 The distant hills, half hid their saddened face. 
 
 With misty haze, its curtains hanging low. 
 
 Ah soon, too soon, where all the herds did graze. 
 
 And where the clover bloomed in all its glow. 
 
 Soon must the harsh wind sweep with tyrant hand 
 
 And bear the beauty of the hills away: 
 
 Soon will the blast in madness walk the strand, 
 
 And sink all these I love in cold decay. 
 
1 LONG FOR THE FIELDS 
 
 1 long for the country, 
 
 I long for the fields, 
 
 1 long for the home of the lark and jay; 
 
 The city streets no pleasure yield, 
 
 With racket and rumble 
 
 Both night and day. 
 
 But O for the home 
 
 Of the birds and bee; 
 
 I long for the freedom they enjoy, 
 
 Away from the cities 
 
 Whose towers and roofs 
 
 Shut out the blue of the beautiful sky. 
 
 Where the trees throw their branches 
 
 Of lovely green. 
 
 To catch every breeze from mountain high; 
 
 Nothing like this in city's mart, 
 
 With stifled air from chimneys nigh. 
 
 1 long for the country, 
 
 I long for the home 
 
 Where the meek herd lows 
 
 On the velvet green; 
 
 The pleasure the cities have to give 
 
 Are nothing to me after these I've seen. 
 
THE OLD rASTUKE JiAKS 
 
 Leaning- on the old pasture bars. 
 Softly the day is sinking to sleep, 
 Calling for lirindle and Bess to come 
 Through the deep clover as one bright star 
 Comes out to peep at the old pasture bars. 
 
 Little brown feet on high tiptoe, 
 And little brown hands on the old pasture bars 
 Waiting impatient for Brindle and Eess, 
 Just as the whippoor-will whispers his song 
 In frightened notes by the old pasture bars. 
 
 Big brown eyes so eagerly watch 
 O'er fading helds, from the dear old bars, . 
 And little cheeks just brushed with tan— 
 For mama said he was her big man 
 And he calls, "toe boss" from the old pasture 
 bars. 
 
 On comes the darkness, and iJrindle and Bess, 
 Through the deep clover up to the bars; 
 
18 THE OLD PASTURE BARS 
 
 And little hands don't know what to do. 
 So tears they streak the cheeks of tan. 
 
 And mother, though it has cost her pain. 
 Lets low the bars for Brindle and Bess; 
 Two little brown feet that wandered away 
 Went plodding home, 
 Guided by mother's hand. 
 
DEAR OLD SPRING 
 
 Dear old Spring I've seen thee coming 
 
 In my memory long ago; 
 1 have heard the bees a-hum ming 
 
 Through the clover all aglow, 
 As the meadows smiled in beauty, 
 
 Bid old Winter swiftly go. 
 
 Dear old Spring, I heard thee weeping 
 While the Winter conquered all, 
 
 Then 1 knew the tiowers were sleeping 
 'Neath its cold and windy brawl. 
 
 Where the birds from south-lands fair 
 Filled with melody the air. 
 
 Dear old Spring, thy gentle wooing 
 Has at last conquered the whole. 
 
 And thy wooded hills and valleys 
 Show the love within thy soul; 
 
 For thou art the blest fore-runner 
 Of thn joyous fruitful summer. 
 
WHEN thp: last hour 
 
 When the last hour of this dear day is dead, 
 
 Sad winds are lullabyiiig off the sea, 
 Departing sunset waves her golden wand, 
 Bathing in orange light held, tlower and tree; 
 The tinkling bells of some slow plodding herd 
 Following the shepherd lad home to the fold; 
 The whippoor-will's faint whispered note is 
 heard. 
 Telling his evening story as of old. 
 
FLOWERS 
 
 J^elievest tlioii 
 These little tiowers sweet 
 Are but God's smiles, 
 Sad hearts to greet? 
 
 What could God give, 
 In this great world of ours. 
 
 That show His love so much 
 As pretty tlowersV 
 
 Those delicate sweet things 
 
 Kissed by the dew 
 Give out perfumes that reach 
 
 As far as heaven. 
 
 To love a tlower 
 Is to have a heart 
 That must be moved by all the woes 
 Of men. 
 
 In wood and Held nestle 
 The^e precious gems. 
 
 21 
 
WillSPEKlNG WINDS 
 
 'Twas when the whispering winds 
 
 Of perfect June, 
 With all sweet nature was in gentle tune, 
 Where flowers bloomed beautiful and gay 
 And to the sky the swallows skimmed away, 
 
 When skies were softest blue 
 
 And sorrow bad adieu. 
 
 When whispering winds 
 
 So many secrets tell 
 Of things we love so well, 
 Of grassy banks where one so longs to rest, 
 Cool leafy dells where happy songsters nest. 
 And rustling cornfields speak of early fall; 
 
 When piping quails 
 
 And merry crickets call. 
 
SEPTEMBER 
 
 O fair are thy clays, September, 
 
 The dearest of all the year; 
 Thou art far enough from November, 
 
 Its shadows we need not fear; 
 Soon after the heat of August 
 
 Thou comest our hearts to cheer, 
 With ripened fruits from the buds of spring, 
 With golden sheaves from fields of green. 
 
WHO HAS A HEART 
 
 And he who has a heart and soul 
 To yearn tor things of beauty. 
 
 Can tind in groves and meadows 
 Food for thought 
 
 To till his life with dutv. 
 
8PK1NG 
 
 lieautilul Spring with garlands of Mowers, 
 J3eautiful Spring, with sweet pleasant hours, 
 Jieautit'ul Spring, with refreshing warm showers, 
 Beautiful, beautiful Spring. 
 
 Blue birds are singing, they came back to-day- 
 Dreary and long were the days while away— 
 O how we w^elcome thee, bird, always stay. 
 Singing so joyous a lay. 
 
 Little green buds that have held in so long- 
 Know they are bursting— my! what a throng 
 Of pretty leaflets so staunch and, so strong. 
 Shady and pleasant and gay. 
 
 Flowers, the whole meadow seems one bright bed; 
 Purple and yellow and golden and red; 
 All o'er the land their sweet incense is spread. 
 While the soft winds with them play. 
 
I HEARD HIM SING 
 
 For summer days are dreamy days. 
 They sweetly sleep their pleasant life away 
 Green grasses, lowing herds and running brooks^ 
 These greet the eye and charm us day by day. 
 
 These things, and many more T can't express, 
 Give their sweet balm of love to till the heart; 
 Scenes so endearing, midway o'er the hill, 
 Where morn's lirst hours are charmed by yon 
 gay lark. 
 
 I heard that warbler when the day was young. 
 When skies were deepest blue and dew was 
 bright; 
 
 the fresh flowers sparkling in the light 
 
 Of Orient beams when first they shed their light. 
 
 'Twas at this hour he soared from earth's low 
 
 mound, 
 And sang as heavenward he winged away. 
 
 1 stood entranced, for then it seemed to me 
 The h;^rps of heaven sang in melody. 
 
THE FIRST ROBIN 
 
 1 early heard the tirsf robin of spring, 
 Just as the sun peeped o'er the hill; 
 I sat and mused as in a dream; 
 
 The note of bird so early in the spring, 
 With joy my soul did fill. 
 
 The snow still lay in clustered mounds around, 
 Hard clinging to the frozen earth; 
 
 But still the robin sang his merry song, 
 And seemed as full of mirth 
 
 As if the balmy days of June were here 
 To warm and gladden all his kind. 
 
 But then -he knew in future hours, he sure 
 Those balmy days would tind. 
 
A QUESTION 
 
 Heard you the whisper of the breeze 
 From deepest woodlands where they slept the night? 
 
 Saw you the blue 
 
 Of the morning sky, 
 Soon as the stars sank in the orange light? 
 
 Came to thy sense 
 
 That sweetest of perfume 
 Of dew-kissed flowers robed in sinless white? 
 
 And heard you then 
 
 The joyous whippoor-will 
 Speak his last note on wing of early flight? 
 
THE GALES THAT BLOW 
 
 O who loves summer better than IV 
 Who loves the gales that blow? 
 Sporting off the heaving sea, 
 Sailing o'er woodlands mountain and dell, 
 Rocking the leaves on the maple tree. 
 Then hurrying oft' to gardens green, 
 Where all is beautiful to be seen; 
 Whispering softly to lilac and rose. 
 And bearing away their choicest sweets. 
 Then away other pleasures to seek. 
 
 On the bosom of the lake. 
 Moving its waves to silvery chimes; 
 Laughing with them in child-like glee. 
 Chasing each one off to shore; 
 Bathing the pearly shells o'er and o'er 
 While happy birds in the maple tree 
 Sing to waves -or they sing to me. 
 
SLEEP OF THE FLOWERS 
 
 Last night the tlowers fell asleep. 
 The falling dew was on their breast; 
 The lily robed in spotless white 
 Was chosen watcher o'er the rest. 
 She to stand watching all alone, 
 liathed in the moon's soft mellow light; 
 If but a whisper or a sigh 
 •From balmy winds shy stealing by. 
 It must awake — but not a sound 
 Broke silence on that tlowery ground. 
 
 Think you a thought of paradise. 
 A place of never ending bliss? 
 If one beneath the deep blue sky 
 Would answer to a thought like this, 
 It must be where the tlowers bloom 
 To breathe their sacred lives away; 
 It must be where aromas sweet 
 Play with the gales and then away. 
 
SLEEP OF THE ELOWEHS 
 
 And of the little birds that drift 
 From distant sunny lands of spring, 
 bearing from the cocoa groves 
 The spicy fragrance on their wings; 
 That after long and weary tiight 
 Inviting rest bids them come down, 
 They trim their plumage and prepare 
 For summer where the tiowers are found. 
 
 31 
 
SUMMER 
 
 Summer, thou sweet friend, 
 
 Tender and true; 
 Lavish with beauty thy friends not a few, 
 Bestow a kind hand, 
 Give all thing's grand. 
 
 There is a cool shady stream 
 
 By the tree. 
 Its meanings are tender to me— 
 They may not be to thee— 
 For in them sweet childhood 1 see. 
 
 On its green mossy banks 
 
 1 have strolled. 
 With my childish thoughts to unfold 
 And plans for the future to mold. 
 And had them unfolded to me. 
 
SUMMER 
 
 I heard the loud song of the jay 
 And drank the sweet breath of the hay; 
 Watched the young lambs at play 
 In gentle May. 
 
 May with its birds and tiowers, 
 With cool inviting bowers, 
 Gentle quiet hours, 
 Ail for me. 
 
 May glided silent too soon 
 Into the long days of June, 
 To give to its nature more room, 
 And scattered its blossoms away. 
 
 Elossoms on the apple tree 
 Foretell the fruitage we may see, 
 For nothing is ever thrown away; 
 Good things always come back some day. 
 
HAKK TO THE WINDS 
 
 Hark to the winds 
 As they whisper from the sea, 
 Creeping" through meadows silently, 
 Kissing sleepy tiowers wet with dew: 
 
 Hark to the winds. 
 
 Whisper they to youV 
 
 Hark to the winds 
 Frqm hill and shady dell, 
 Bearing a voice of melody 
 From pleasant woodlands. 
 Where the flowers of spring 
 
 First to the heart 
 
 Their gentle presents bring. 
 
 Hark to the winds, 
 As from their mountain home, 
 When silent night doth come, 
 O how^ they sigh and moan; 
 Whatever the heart is pondering o'er and o'er, 
 
 The sad winds speak of that 
 
 And sigh no more. 
 
HARK TO TlIK WINDS :V) 
 
 Sigh oil ye winds, 
 And whisper from the sea— 
 Ah, many are the thoughts 
 You bring home to me 
 Of the latest wreck amid the breaking roar, 
 
 The ghastly forms you tossed 
 
 Upon the shore. 
 
WHEN WE WERE BOYS 
 
 When we were boys together 
 
 111 the long, long ago, 
 I gave you all my secrets. 
 
 And you told me all you knew; 
 All our troubles talked together - 
 
 Days ever tilled with joy and woe- 
 When we were boys together, 
 
 In the long, long ago. 
 
 When we were boys together. 
 
 And used to go to school, 
 1 thought you knew the most things. 
 
 And you thought me no fool; 
 We didn't let the other tellers 
 
 Into our secrets though, 
 W^hen we were boys together 
 
 In the long, long ago. 
 
 When we were boys together. 
 
 And Christmas used to come 
 With its tovs and candies and 
 
WHEN WK \\i:UE IJOVS 
 
 The little tin -shoot o-un," 
 We used to go out huutiug— 
 
 () how we liked to grow. 
 \\heii we were boys together 
 
 In the long, long ago. 
 
 Since we were boys together, 
 
 I almost quite forgot 
 Where w^e went in swimming, 
 
 Down in the clover lot; 
 The little brook ran swiftly on 
 
 As have our lives you know: 
 Since w^e were boys together 
 
 In the long, long ago. 
 
AWAY IN THE COUNTKV 
 
 Away oft' iu the country 
 Where the velvet grasses grow, 
 And the gentle breezes whisper 
 As they hurry to and fro; 
 The tlowers look as fresh with 
 Dewy baths that evening sent, 
 And the birds they warble sweeter 
 From their night of slumber spent. 
 
 Away off in the country 
 
 The hillsides slope away 
 
 To meet the sparkling river. 
 
 Laughing, chanting all the day. 
 
 Along the sleepy valley, 
 
 Through the lields of wheat and corn- 
 
 xVway off in the country 
 
 Where the pure fresh breeze is born. 
 
 Away oft" in the country 
 NN'here the people live content 
 
AWAY IX TJIK COl'XTRY 
 
 With the L^it'ts from nature's bounty 
 Thiniis that nature's (Uk\ has sent: 
 There is only just one fashion 
 Wherewith man is satisfied, 
 \\ith no hatred strife or envy: 
 That's what nature has supplied. 
 
 Away otf in the country- 
 Apple blossoms, cherries red. 
 Peach trees loaded, maples shady, 
 liirds a-sing-ing overhead; 
 Grasses green and soft as velvet, 
 J3utter Clips and roses too— 
 Aw^ay off in the country. 
 Where there's rest for me and vou. 
 
OLD SONGS 
 
 1 am saddest when I sing- the old soiig-s. 
 
 For tears to my heart they bring; 
 I am saddest when 1 sing the old songs 
 
 That round my memory cling; 
 The old songs are dearest and sweetest. 
 
 They bring back the days of yore; 
 While we're sitting here alone 
 
 Let'us sing of home 
 And the dear old songs once more. 
 
 Dear old songs of childhood. 
 
 Of boyhood's playful hours; 
 Bringing thoughts of mother, 
 
 That true best friend of ours; 
 Telling of her kindness. 
 
 Words of love and cheer— 
 I love to sing the old songs. 
 
 Though it tills mv heart with tears. 
 
OLD SONGS 41 
 
 I am saddest when 1 sing the old songs, 
 
 Of sorrows that have come and gone, 
 Of friends and loved young playmates 
 
 Who have joined a brighter throng. 
 O the deeds of the past are ever 
 
 Flooding the beating heart, 
 As we're singing together the old songs 
 
 We love so when far apart. 
 
liAJiY LAND 
 
 O where— can you tell me— is Baby Land? 
 
 It must be a beautiful place, 
 
 For this elf from J3aby Land 
 
 Has such a sweet white face. 
 
 JSoftly the smiles play o'er it 
 
 Like dancing sunbeams free— 
 O where— can you tell me— is Bi\hy Land? 
 
 I'd love it revealed to me. 
 
 O where— can you tell me -is Baby J^andV 
 With eyes like twinkling stars. 
 Just brimming full of mirthful glee, 
 They brought from that land so far 
 The innocent laugh of love at play; 
 1 am sure the angels will tell 
 
 This sweet little tot from Baby Land 
 That babies there are well. 
 
J^AJiV LAXI) 
 
 (> where would you think is Eaby Land'^ 
 These JittJe soft phik feet 
 Must have walked midst riowery paths 
 And lived on their dewy sweets; 
 (^ompanious of white- winged fairies 
 Must have held the chubby hand, 
 For nothing but beautiful things like these 
 Could come from Baby Land. 
 
 43 
 
AUTUMN TIME IS MY TIME 
 
 Autumn time is my time, 
 
 That's the time I love, 
 When the skies are looking clown 
 
 So dreamy from above. 
 All the trees are painted o"er 
 
 In spots of green and gold: 
 Everything so full of love, 
 
 It can hardly hold. 
 Autumn time is my time, 
 
 That's the time 1 love, 
 When the sky is looking down. 
 
 So dreamy from above. 
 
 Autumn time is my time. 
 
 Then the mellow air, 
 Loaded down with sweet perfumes, 
 
 Comes from everywhere; 
 Every tlower on the hill 
 
 Gave all the sweet it had; 
 
AUTUMN TIMI-: IS MV TLMK 
 
 Kvery lielci is Jaughiug so. 
 
 It makes a soul feel gJad. 
 Autumn time is my time, 
 
 That's the time 1 love. 
 When the sky is looking down. 
 
 So dreamy from above. 
 
 Autumn time is my time- 
 When I was a boy, 
 Climbing in the apple tree— 
 
 Jiless me. what a joy- 
 Picking mellow -fellers'' 
 
 While they're blushing red; 
 As I tilled my pockets. 
 
 Some dro])ped on my head. 
 Mother calling from the house— 
 
 ^Vondered where I was— 
 And the sky was looking down. 
 So dreamy from above. 
 
WHEN THE HEART BEATS SAD 
 
 When the heart beats sad 
 Amid the storm and strife, 
 
 We struggle on through life; 
 All faint and weak we tread 
 Where fate's cold hand has led, 
 And murmer when the hot tears come, 
 Wishing the end had come— 
 -O we are so weary 
 When the heart beats sad. 
 
 When the heart beats sad. 
 
 And friends have gone, 
 
 The world so cold. 
 
 Seeks naught but gold, 
 No place of welcome, none to love; 
 Does that great heart above 
 No longer yearn for pilgrims here? 
 
 There's naught to cheer thee 
 
 When the heart beats sad. 
 
WHEN TUE II HART BEATS SAD 
 
 \N'hen the heart beats sad, 
 
 O 1 could lay me low. 
 Here in dear nature's lap. 
 
 If that were all 
 And nothing yet beyond; 
 How quick to put life's burden down 
 
 And sink to sleep. 
 
 And cease to weep. 
 When the heart beats sad. 
 
SAJ) FALL DAYS 
 
 The gentle winds they whisper 
 
 In these sad fall days. 
 When tlowers are dropping, dieing 
 
 Along the rustic way: 
 When birds that sang in springtime 
 
 Have riown away. away. 
 Around the hills we linger 
 
 In misty hazy sway. 
 
 The forests all are sleeping: 
 
 Some one has stole away 
 The verdure green that clothed them, 
 
 In May's sweet youthful day; 
 The quail pipes in the meadow. 
 
 And the lone whippoor-will 
 Calls in his twilight dreamings. 
 
 And mist hangs o'er the hill. 
 
OCTOJiEIi 
 
 When the sweet October days 
 
 Come softly gently creeping on. 
 And the winds are whispering silent 
 
 Of dear summer that has gone; 
 Bluebirds, meadow lark and robin 
 
 Sang so cheery in the dell; 
 Now they scarce a sound can utter, 
 
 Not a note of love to tell: 
 For they seek not mate or friendship. 
 
 As the nesting time is past; 
 While we sit beneath the gloaming 
 
 Pondering sadly o'er the past. 
 O alas, October's beauty 
 
 Crowds so hard cold winter's brawl 
 We must weep to see them passing. 
 
 These sweet pleasant days of fall. 
 
B1UN(; SWEET FEOW EHS 
 
 Here in the graves where our heroes are sleeping. 
 
 J3ring the sweet flowers and cover them o'er; 
 While the hushed winds through the willows are 
 weeping. 
 
 Of the departed we'll see never more. 
 
 Have we been thoughtless, or have we forgotten 
 The blessings we've gained by the crosses they 
 l!ore; 
 
 And how the old hag ever speaks of their valor- 
 Repeats the sad story, the echoes of war. 
 
 We still hear the tramp of their weary feet marching 
 To meet the armed foe in their fortilied camp; 
 
 We still hear the bugle call echoing, dying. 
 Aiul see them still plodding through night's chill 
 and damp. 
 
BKING SWEET ELOWEHS :>! 
 
 We're saddened to hear the old story repeated; 
 
 How they fell by the seore when the struggle began; 
 How the clash of the steel and the cannon's loud 
 thunder 
 
 Stilletl their groans as the vicl'ry was won. 
 
 O pity the hearts all these years have been aching 
 For the loss of a father, a husl)and or son; 
 
 J3ut death has a comfort to give in its taking, 
 E'or sweet sleep the brave when their duty is done. 
 
 Then bring the sweet (lowers of May's precious 
 blooming. 
 
 And lay them in sympathy tender and true; 
 As kind nature blends in her homage to duty. 
 
 Beneath the sweet tlowers the heroes in blue. 
 
 Yes. bring the sweet tlowers and cover them over, 
 While the hushed winds through the willows do 
 wee]); 
 Jiring garlands of tlowers and lay them all over 
 The sacred green graves wiiere our heroes now 
 sleep. 
 
VOICES 
 
 Voices that call in the past to me; 
 
 Sweet voices calling, calling; 
 Echoing gently o'er life's sad sea, 
 Bringing memories ever to me— 
 Calling. 
 
 Voices of love in tender strain: 
 Dear voices calling, calling; 
 Eilling the heart with regretfnl pain. 
 Telling of words of harsh disdain- 
 Calling. 
 
 Voices of home, they speak to me: 
 
 Kind voices calling, calling. 
 Blessings of boyhood's happy hours, 
 As sunbeams sport in shady bowers 
 Calling. 
 
VOICES 5:i 
 
 Voices of manhood's sturdy prime- 
 Deep voices, calling, calling; 
 Building high hopes of future days, 
 Laying life's plans in bright array- 
 Calling. 
 
 Voices of mother, so kind, so dear — 
 
 Beautiful voices calling; 
 Deep as the ever sounding sea. 
 That brought such good through life to me— 
 Calling. 
 
 There speaks to my heart to-day, 
 A sad voice calling, calling, 
 Telling of age with snowy hair; 
 How old time on this body wears — 
 Calling. 
 
YE PLEASANT HILLS 
 
 Ye pleasant hills, ye valleys and ye groves, 
 
 how 1 love you— never more than now; 
 
 1 well remember when I watched the droves 
 And kept them feeding on your somber brow. 
 
 Ye vales of pensive sweetness, what your charms 
 That youth will cling to you and fain would stay, 
 And age with snowy locks and ripened charms. 
 Would bid life's hated messenger awayV 
 
 Would bid away that youth might come again 
 To smooth again the wrinkles oif the brow; 
 Stalk they alield to drive the cutting blade, 
 And follow up once more the furrowed plow. 
 
 Would linger still upon thy sunlit brow: 
 To live again in joy what youth had spent; 
 Forget their age and sport among the Helds, 
 Not dreaming of the care old time has sent. 
 
YE PLEASANT 11 ILLS 
 
 Ye show no age. ye hills and vales I love: 
 'N'outh sits with smiling face to crown your brow. 
 Thou stately oak hast sheltered many herds, 
 Stood three-score vears as thou art standing now. 
 
 The tleecy tlocks came bleating to the fold, 
 Soon to be shorn of their wealthy care: 
 The lowing herds their tinkling bells had tolled 
 And cropped the dewy grass in lields afar. 
 
 Sank yon fair sun unto its evening rest. 
 While whippoorwills made glad the evening hour, 
 And the blithe lark that all the day had blessed. 
 Was nesting in some quiet hidden bower. 
 
 Those days were when the pheasant and the quail 
 Whistled the storm from every fence and bough. 
 And O the noisy drummings in the vale— 
 These were the sounds: no more we hear them now. 
 
 Those were the days when life was all a dream; 
 Then sweet enchantment lent her fairy hand 
 To lead us on with time, but not to wean 
 Our fond aifections from this our loved land. 
 
YE PLEASANT HILLS 56 
 
 All these dear mem'ries of the silent past, 
 Flooding the heart with sorrow, joy and pain; 
 Gladly I'd give all things that I possess, 
 Could I but be amoug those scenes again. 
 
 And O ye hills, ye valleys and ye groves, 
 
 how I love you— never more than now: 
 
 1 well remember when 1 watched the droves 
 And kept them feeding on your somber brow. 
 
LULLABY 
 
 Lullaby sweet one and sleep, 
 
 Evening shadows fall 
 In the orange-tinted west; 
 
 Nightingales will call. 
 Silently the willows weep: 
 Lullaby, sweet one and sleep. 
 
MORNING 
 
 And how fair the morn! 
 When tirst it bids sweet welcome to the day: 
 The dew-bathed tiowers look up so lovingly. 
 And every hour brings forth such rare perfume: 
 
 The bnxls that slumbered all the night 
 On some high bough, have wakened to a melody 
 
 That charms the listening ear. 
 Slow sauntering down the sun-lit lane 
 
 The meek herd crop their way 
 To pleasant lields where rippling brooks sing gay 
 
WHERE SLEEP THE LILIES 
 
 Where sleep the lilies? 
 On the lake's cool breast, 
 Opening- their gentle folds as evening comes, 
 While silvery moonbeams bathe their uptnrned f ace 
 And silvery ripples play with joy among them. 
 Here their short lives are passed, 
 But to be born again 
 And still repeat the same 
 Sweet story o'er and o'er. 
 
SUMMER SONGS 
 
 And who may sing summer's sweetest songsV 
 Can they who do not love the birds and tlowers 
 And grasses green with diamond drops 
 Of dew in crystal nightly showers; 
 The young lambs playing on the hill. 
 The W'ealthy herds in pleasant vales 
 And breath of tlowers with the galesV 
 
 Can he sing summer's swTetest songs 
 Who never looks up at the beauty of the soft blue 
 sky, 
 Sees not a thing to give him thought 
 In the laughing lake that lies close by. 
 And birds that sing on the branches high? 
 
AWAKE, AWAKE 
 
 Awake, awake, for winds do play 
 O'er the bright waters of the bay, 
 And white sails tloatiiig near and far, 
 As big ships cross the misty bar. 
 And o'er the wave like greyhounds leap; 
 Keep straight their pathway through the 
 deep. 
 
 Awake, awake, and hear the sound 
 Of booming cannon 'cross the main; 
 She left us many days ago, 
 And at this hour returns again. 
 How proud, how proud her colors tly— 
 The union jack from mast-head high— 
 And from the bow old glory floats— 
 The center of our pride and hopes. 
 
FADING LEAVES 
 
 Fading the leaves this autumn hour, 
 With summer's beauty dead and gone; 
 Fading the leaves in this dear bower, 
 Where once was heard the bird's sweet song. 
 
 Fading the leaves when sun rays low 
 Are coursing their way through misty skies; 
 Fading the leaves when hill and plain 
 Are giving in sorrow the life that dies. 
 
 Fading the leaves when the heart so sad 
 Must ponder in thought on things of yore: 
 Fading the leaves while those we love 
 Must pass away and be seen no more. 
 
 Fading the leaves and giving olf 
 All that endeared them, O heart of mine; 
 Fading the leaves in the great beyond, 
 And we are left behind with time. 
 
BREATHE NOW THE WINDS 
 
 Breathe now the soft sweet breeze from oft' the main, 
 
 Inhale the winds and breathe it thrice again; 
 
 Is not this beauty when we loolv around 
 
 On the broad bosom of the heaving sound 
 
 And watch the sprays that dance along the shore: 
 
 The many voices mid the breaking roarV 
 
 The sea bird sings his wild and cheerful song. 
 As o'er the foaming surf he skims along; 
 The distant water leaps to meet the sky, 
 As thundering liners through the billows tly. 
 Bearing their wealth of freight far o'er the main- 
 Inhale the winds and breathe them thrice again. 
 
WHILE 1 SLEEP 
 
 Be thou silent while 1 sleep, 
 in my dreamings, O so sweet; 
 As a child in mother's arms 
 
 I slumber on. 
 While the spirits o'er me keep 
 Fondest vigil while 1 sleep; 
 1 will wake the morrow morn 
 
 Kefreshed and strong. 
 
 As the sun sinks low to rest, 
 Pillowed on the evening's breast, 
 And the little stars come twinkling 
 
 One by one; 
 Silvery moonbeams dance and play 
 Through the window where I lay; 
 Hours but moments seem to me. 
 
 p]ver speeding on. 
 
 While I'm lost in gentle sleep. 
 Angels o'er the world will keep 
 Loving watch o'er all the hosts 
 
 Of poor weak men; 
 Even note the sparrow's fall, 
 Hear the helpless infant's call. 
 Till the dewy morn shall break 
 
 With life to all. 
 
WHEN THE HARV^EST DAYS ARE O'ER 
 
 When the harvest days are over 
 
 And tassels on the corn; 
 When the quail pipes in the meadow. 
 
 Then we hear the hunter's horn; 
 When autumn hrst is spreading 
 
 Her bright banners to the sky; 
 When the harvest days are over 
 
 And the robins southward tly. 
 
 When the robins homeward liy, 
 Having nested in the trees, 
 
 We hear no more the murmur 
 Of the honey-laden bees. 
 
 Winds come creeping on in whispers 
 From the valleys, off the hill. 
 
 When the harvest days are over 
 And we hear the whippoor-will. 
 
66 WHEN THE HARVP:ST DAYS ARE O'EK 
 
 When we hear the whippoor-will 
 
 Calling sweetly, soft and low: 
 Calling when the twilight deepens. 
 
 As the sun to rest sinks low: 
 And the flowers hear the sighing 
 
 Of the zephers passing by— 
 When the harvest days are over. 
 
 And we hear the cricket cry. 
 
 When w^e hear the cricket chirping 
 
 On the hearthstone cold and gray. 
 And we're dreaming o'er the pleasures 
 
 Of the summers passed away; 
 Ah, we're thinking, sadly thinking 
 
 On the golden hours passed. 
 When the harvest days are over. 
 
 And we're gathered home at last. 
 
J3KAUTV OF TllK WOODS 
 
 Kind nature, take my hand 
 And lead me in thy pleasant paths 
 Beneath the shadows of the gray 
 Old forest, crowned with its 
 Heaiitiful foliage, and reaching its 
 Proud branches till they intermingle 
 In one woven mass, uniting, as it were. 
 In mighty strength, defy the torrent 
 And the tiercer blasts. 
 
 Ye grand old oaks, that lift 
 Your brow so high, it took the ages 
 For to send your roots deep in the 
 Heart of earth; but what a grasp! 
 Clinging round that huge pillar of 
 Kocks. the winds may howl in fury 
 And hurl their thunder-bolts of strength 
 Against you. l)ut ye laugh at them. 
 And still do stand to bless in sultry days. 
 
 () ye grand old woods, when 
 
 The heated world without is toiling 
 
68 J5KAUTY OF THE WOODS 
 
 On beneath the sun's lieree rays, and 
 Drops of sweat are falling from the 
 J3row, makes man to sigli beneath 
 His load; within your depth what 
 Cool sweet shade, inviting all. for your 
 J^ounteous store is given free, as ye are given. 
 
 The seasons eome and go. and all this 
 Display of loveliness is not even seen. 
 Much less enioyed, by one small 
 Fraction of this world's great hoards. 
 How many fevered brows would these 
 Deep shadows cool, and those suffering 
 In heated tenements, of many ills. 
 Could here breathe afresh (iod's own 
 Pure air. which would affect the whole 
 Jieing. glowing with a new creation. 
 
 And the poor peasant, toiling day by day 
 In dusty tields, or at the heated forge. 
 Would Hud here such refreshing rest for 
 Hands and heart; could he with 
 Leisure pluck a bunch of these sweet 
 Daisies, growing in such abundance 
 By this pearly stream, and hear the 
 Wild bird speak his melodies in 
 This his most joyous habitation, 
 Methinks he would receive a blessing great. 
 
J^KATT^' OF TlIK WOODS <V.l 
 
 Oh there is such a charm in ualuie. 
 I would, my «;reat Creator and Maker 
 Of all this ma«,niiliceuce. that every 
 Creature nuule in Thy likeness could 
 Here enjoy these shades, and not one 
 JJe deprived or kei)t hound down l)y 
 Sellish oreed of others, from thai 
 Which would hrin^ him neaier to 
 Thee, to (ill the soul with meditation 
 (Jreat. and store the mind with lofty 
 Thouu'hts tliev otherwise would loose. 
 
 When comes the autumn all allauie. 
 Paintinji' this dee)) green foliage in soft 
 Yellow tints of golden glory, and llings 
 All these liuge branches out against 
 The sky. in art so delicate, be speaking 
 Of an end sublime, and with what 
 Homage l)ow they their grand old 
 Heads in silent willingness to 
 Their Maker's command. 
 
 And then at last, by a gentle yet 
 Loving decay, come the soft winds 
 I"'rom peaceful honu'S. and as a 
 SoKtIiing nui'se take those l)right 
 
BEAUTY OF THK WOODS 
 
 Leaves from oft' the parent stem, 
 Bearing them softly to the good 
 Old earth that gave them nourishment. 
 Bidding them sleep upon its sacred bosom 
 Until the resurrection of another spring. 
 
M()HN1N(J 
 
 Silently tlie hours move on, the stars still keep 
 wateh while every moment of time one by one of 
 their bright lamps is extinguished, the mellow beau- 
 ty of the full round moon is slowly giving way to 
 some unseen power, the winds that have been sleep- 
 ing in their caverns, tirst with slow and gentle tread, 
 breathing afresh their invigorating breath on herb' 
 tree, fruit and llower; playing with the glassy bosom 
 of the lake and moving it to silvery ripples: then 
 again dancing with babbling brooks hurrying to 
 field and forest. The early darkness has vanished 
 away and the day is born; the deep blue vault of 
 heaven is spread over the world like liquid dew; the 
 woods have thrown off their garments of slumber. 
 until every tree is an orchestra of melody; the beau- 
 tiful tields stretch away in pensive grandeur, while 
 the meadow grasses glitter as a precious gem. 
 The distant waterfall is chanting to its mountain 
 solitude as the gray old peaks raise their aged brows 
 to gaze in wonder at the great panorama; the glori- 
 ous sun bursts forth from over yon eternal hills and 
 begins its course to bless mankind. 
 
WHEN THE MISTY HAZE 
 
 When the misty haze 
 Of summer's latest days 
 
 Comes o'er iis stealing: 
 In silent dreamy mood. 
 O'er those sweet days we brood- 
 
 'Tis sad we're feeling. 
 
 O gentle summer hours. 
 J^eneath your shady bowers 
 
 We love to ponder: 
 On nature's welcome arm 
 There never was a charm 
 
 That (lid seem fonder. 
 
 Where i)early brooks so sweet 
 Are babbling at our feet. 
 
 And softly sighing; 
 From every willow brush 
 Where sings the jay and thrush 
 
 And cat-bird crving. 
 
w iri:x riiK Misrv iiazk 
 
 In fields of rustling: corn. 
 There fu'st at early morn 
 
 Sunbeams aie i)eei)in,o-: 
 The blithe (luail's i)ipin<i- call 
 Sounds an alarm to all— 
 
 No moie be sleepinj^'. 
 
 Hark! from the murmurino- falls. 
 That from the distance calls 
 
 To seed men sowing-; 
 The tinkling bells so clear. 
 On meadows brown and sear; 
 
 Say. summer's goino-. 
 
 'Neath every orchard tree, 
 All (lay the busy bee. 
 
 On drowsy wing; 
 From vine to Hower fair. 
 He seeks with tender care 
 
 His winter gleaning. 
 
 The bii'ds. like summer showers. 
 Have flown from these bowers 
 
 And left them dreary: 
 (ireen foliage too is gone; 
 From morn till night no song 
 
 To make them cheerv. 
 
\viip;n the misty haze 
 
 So say we all farewell, 
 For we can never tell 
 
 The blessings brought us; 
 And may we each one see 
 How happy we may be 
 
 From lessons taught us. 
 
FAJ.LiNd jj:avi:s 
 
 Fiilliug, the leaves are falling, 
 
 Falling- from off the tree; 
 And some have turned to golden, 
 
 From the green they used to be; 
 And still some hang to half-stripped boughs, 
 
 In memory dear to me— 
 Falling, the leaves are falling, 
 
 Falling from the trees. 
 
 Falling, yes, gently falling, 
 
 And with them falls a tear, 
 For the weeping winds that sigh aloud. 
 
 Fill the heart with fear; 
 They tell this beautiful summer 
 
 Soon must but a memory be— 
 Falling, the leaves are falling, 
 
 Falling from off" the tree. 
 
 Falling, so softly falling 
 
 Down to dear mother earth; 
 Bringing themselves as trophies 
 
FALLING LEAVES 
 
 To the heart that gave them birth. 
 From home on the high up branches. 
 
 Where in life they loved to be— 
 Falling, the leaves are falling, 
 
 Falling from olf the tree. 
 
 Falling, yes, lovingly falling— 
 
 They have done their duty well; 
 They shaded the pretty woodlands. 
 
 Made pleasant the sunny dell: 
 (xave beauty to that good summer 
 
 That brought such joy to thee— 
 Falling, the leaves are falling. 
 
 Falling from off the tree. 
 
 Just as the dew of evening. 
 
 Just as the leaves of the tree, 
 Just as the flowers fading, 
 
 Just as the autumn lee; 
 Passing from all life's duties— 
 
 From all these cares set free- 
 Falling, the leaves are falling; 
 
 So falleth you and me. 
 
HOMK rO-DAY 
 
 1 wandered with slow and steady step 
 And stood on the brink of the hill; 
 
 1 gazed on the scene in the vale behjw. 
 On the dear old time-worn mill. 
 
 () how like a Hood did memory 
 
 Pour over my soul like a sea. 
 And my heart of hearts beat low and sad. 
 
 As it all came back to me. 
 
 I wept as a little ehild that day 
 Would weep in his trouble at play; 
 
 O'ercome by the scene 1 was bathed in tears. 
 And my lips had moved to pray. 
 
 () memory, what bringest thou to me 
 
 From the long, long years away. 
 That I've wandered far o'er the world's wide 
 sea, 
 
 J^ut I am home again to-day. 
 
 L.ofC. 
 
HOME TO-DAY 
 
 Home, home, to the scenes of my boyhood. 
 
 To my childish dreams of joy; 
 To my thoughtless iiiuoceiit hours - 
 
 Can it be I was once a boyV 
 
 Was my life once all playful and careless. 
 And sorrow had nothing to bringV 
 
 I skipped o'er the meadow like sunbeams, 
 And danced by the i)ebbly stream. 
 
 No bird was so hapi)y as 1 was- 
 No lambkin that cropped on the lea; 
 
 O time, you have stolen my treasures: 
 They will never come back to me. 
 
 Sorrow and joy intermingle as one. 
 As L gaze on the love scenes of yore; 
 
 colud L but utter my musings within— 
 Hut words with thoughts never can soar. 
 
 1 am here in my sorrow^ to think all alone. 
 For there is no one left but me. 
 
 Of all the dear household of hearts so true. 
 My bark drifts alone o'er life's sea. 
 
HOMK TO-DAY 7<) 
 
 They are sleeping-, kind father and mother 1 
 loved. 
 ()"er the hill by the willow that's weepinj^-; 
 They are gone as the water that i)as>ed by 
 the mill: 
 So time takes ns all in his reaping. 
 
 1 will plant this sweet liower all dewed with 
 my tears 
 As I go from the old home forever. 
 And when I have entered the harbor with 
 them, 
 Time will have no power to sever. 
 
THE SEASONS 
 
 With what may we compare SpriiigV The very 
 word is sweetness. How full of Jove everything- 
 seems to be— the true, pure heart love, that has no 
 stain, no dishonor. First we note this kindness by 
 some soft whispering breeze, creeping from its place 
 of rest, over the hill, down in the valley, through the 
 wood and orchard, pressing a kiss on our brow as it 
 is passing. The sun. that has been so unfriendly 
 for so long a time, keeps edging a little nearer and 
 nearer each day. acting as a timid child wishing to 
 become better acquainted again: the trees that held 
 forth their bare arms all winter like ghosts, the lit- 
 tle bushes and creeping vines, the tender plants that 
 seemed to me as little children left orphaned and 
 alone; all these have changed. Tiny buds appear, 
 one by one, till soon their number is countless. The 
 lields that have been bare and brown are putting 
 on a new dress, from the million little earth cells is 
 springing forth a tender infant blade of green that 
 soon will spread its velvet mantle over all the land. 
 Pearly drops of rain are falling from the clouds, 
 pattering on roof and garden, bubbling in pools, 
 then dancing away in tiny rills. 
 
THE SEASONS 81 
 
 But hark! a bird: yes a robin— a pretty little 
 red-breast— how nice it seems to hear him sing; he is 
 cheering up this rain— brave little fellow— he must 
 be singing to the buds before they are really grow- 
 ing. This early morn as the sun first smiled upon 
 us we heard a bluebird, and there he is; such music 
 in his note, and he just as blue as the skies. 
 
 While stealing through the fields my ear caught 
 the sound of some babbling brook, and as 1 clamber- 
 ed over the hill a pretty lake smiled at me, and on 
 the south side, where the sun had stood a few hours 
 each day, a pure white flower had first opened its 
 tender eyes to look heavenward, for these are the first 
 dear hours of spring, the forerunner of beautiful 
 summer. 1 would have the three seasons condensed 
 into one sweet word, summer— the child is father to 
 the man— old age is but a child again. 
 
 So Spring is Summer as a child: Summer the 
 manhood and prime of life, and Autumn— why, Sum- 
 mer just falls into its aged arms and sinks to sleep. 
 
 The winds have whispered; the rains have come; 
 the buds have grown to leaves; the fiowers have 
 bloomed; the brook has babbled through its meadow 
 course; the lakes have smiled and danced with sil- 
 very feet on pebbly shores, while birds to all have 
 sung their love songs, and ere we realize this. Spring 
 has melted away into the beautiful glorious Sum- 
 mer- and so in all (rod's creation a perfect likeness 
 of His own great heart of love. 
 
WHERE SUMMER VIES 
 
 Where summer vies 
 And busy wiuds sing low from off the main, 
 Fresh winds so gaily dancing. 
 With hours as bright and glancing, 
 And harmony entrancing, 
 
 NVhere summer vies. 
 
 Where summer vies 
 And pretty songsters happy as spirits free. 
 All in full chorus singing— 
 The shady trees are ringing - 
 To every branch they're clinging, 
 
 Where summer vies. 
 
 Where summer vies. 
 There lields of fragrance till the hours of June: 
 Among the Howers sweet 
 The bee with laden feet 
 Hums o"er l»is winter meat. 
 
 Whei'e summer \ies. 
 
NO MORE 
 
 No more, no more the rustling corn we hear. 
 No more the song of birds the sweet long day: 
 No more the fields with golden grain appear; 
 No more the swallow skims the misty way: 
 No more, no more the whispering winds of morn: 
 No more the Howers drink the dews of night: 
 No more the beauties that in spring are born. 
 As loved ones gone and vanished from our sight. 
 
 No more the plowboy plods the dusty lane: 
 No more the shepherd lad drives home the flock; 
 No more the reapers sing their glad refrain: 
 No more the jay high on the maple rocks; 
 No more the herd comes meekly from the spring; 
 No more the children play upon the lawn: 
 No more the summer smiles across the plain- 
 So much of life— so many duties gone. 
 
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