NATURE IN VERSE- LOVE JOY UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL H MINIMI 00022226789 THE GAMMANS POETRY COLLECTION In Memory of GEORGE H. GAMMANS, II Class of 1940 First Lieutenant Army Air Corps Distinguished Service Cross Missing in Action January 15, 1943 THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY i u y /vvv ^ a . yvu^^j: ' Q\JrwJo t fU, ^ . This BOOK may be kept out TWO WEEKS ONLY, and is subject to a fine of FIVE CENTS a day thereafter. It is DUE on the DAY indicated below: Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://www.archive.org/details/natureinversepoeOOIove NATURE IN VERSE A POETRY READER FOR CHILDREN COMPILED BY MARY L- LOVEJOY SILVER, BURDETT & COMPANY New York BOSTON Chicago 1897 * CHOICE READING FOR SCHOOLS. The Normal Course in Reading. By Miss Emma J. Todd, Formerly Training Teacher in Aurora, 111., Public Schools, and W. B. Powell, A.M., Supt. Schools, Washington, D.C. A complete system of Reading, comprising six readers, three alternate readers, and Primary Reading Charts. The Rational Method in Reading. By Edward G. Ward, Associate Supt. Public Instruction, Brooklyn, N.Y. Sight and phonetic reading combined : Readers, Manual of In- struction, and Phonetic Cards. The Young Folks' Library. Edited by Larkin Dunton, LL.D., Head Master Boston Normal School. STORIES OF CHILD LIFE: four volumes. THE WORLD AND ITS PEOPLE : eight volumes {including two in preparation). Twilight Stories. By Elizabeth E. Foulke. A collection of charming original stories and poems, fully illus- trated, for lower primary grades. Copyright, 1895, By SILVER, BURDETT & COMPANY. NnrfoootJ $rtss J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Norwood Mass. U.S.A. TO MY NIECE Jffiarpret Speak to the children, Little Book, And bring to them happy hours ; Teach them to rind in every verse God's message in the flowers, His loving care of beast and bird, His wonders in the deep, His patience in His perfect work, His care o'er all who sleep ; And learn from all His teachings true How much a little child can do. M. I. L. PREFACE. THE object of nature study is twofold: first, to arouse and cultivate the habit of observation ; and, second, to impress the facts thus acquired upon the mind and the memory. What more delightful medium than verse for transmitting the beauties of nature to the awakened perceptions of childhood ? Children are natural lovers of poetry ; its musical rhythm pleases the ear, its charm of expression stimu- lates the imagination, and they are easily led to search for the deeper beauty of meaning. The need of a nature-poetry reader for the lower school grades has long been felt, and it was to meet this obvious want that the present volume has been compiled. It is intended to cover the first four years of school work, and the selections have been carefully graded with a view to adapting them to the varying ages and needs of those who will use the book. A division has been made into Songs of Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter, and under each head will be found a wide range of selections, from the simple rhymes suited to the younger readers, to more elaborate poems such as older pupils can easily read and comprehend. Vi PREFACE. The scheme of nature study, as outlined in the school work of the year, has been carefully followed. Plants, flowers, insects, birds, clouds and wind, rain and snow, and other phenomena, form the subject of diverse poems by different authors, and the teacher will find no diffi- culty in selecting such as are best suited to her grade, and to the lesson in hand. Though primarily intended for school use, it is believed that the volume will prove no less attractive for children in the home. The poems are largely by. the best English and American authors, and will bear frequent reading ; while the memorizing of them will afford lasting pleasure and profit to their young readers. The copyrighted material is used by permission of and by arrangement with Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin and Co., Roberts Bros., D. Appleton and Co., Harper and Bros., The Century Co., Lothrop Publishing Co., Charles Scrib- ner's Sons, Kindergarten Publishing Co., Educational Pub- lishing Co., and the publishers of the Youttis Companion, Independent, New England Magazine, and Ladies' Home Journal, to all of whom the compiler desires to make cordial acknowledgment for their courtesy and good will. Her thanks are also gratefully extended to the authors who so graciously granted permission for the use of their poems, and whose kindly letters have been a source of gratification and encouragement. That the book into which so much good thought has been incorporated may awaken in children a true love of the beautiful in nature, and a reverence for its Creator, is the earnest desire of the compiler. TABLE OF CONTENTS. SONGS OF SPRING. PAGE The King of Glory Holy Bible 3 The Coming of Spring Selected 4 Spring Song „ „ . . . . Selected 4 A Spring Song Children *s Friend and Kindergarten 5 A Walk in Spring M. A. Stoddart 6 A Spring Meeting Harpers Young People 7 A Song of Spring Helen C. Bacon 8 The Sunshine's Caress Songs and Games for Little Ones 9 Sunbeams Selected 10 The Sunbeams Emilie Poulsson 10 If I were a Sunbeam Lucy Larcom 1 1 Spring Harbingers Selected 12 The Seed , Selected 14 Winged Seeds Helen Gray Cone 1 5 Nature's Thoughtfulness M. F. Butts 15 Work Selected 1 6 u-How the Wind Blows Selected 17 Merry Rain Selected 1 8 April Shower Selected 20 p-Who Likes the Rain ? Clara Doty Bates 20 Stop, Stop, Pretty Water Mrs. Follen 21 The Voice of the Grass Mary Howitt 22 The Grass „ . Emily Dickinson 23 The Crocus's Soliloquy Miss H. F. Gould 24 The Venturesome Buds A. C. 25 The Tree Bjornstjerne Bjornson 26 The Tree Jones Very 27 The Weather-cock's Complaint » . . . Selected 28 vii viii TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE The Leaflets Kate L. Brown 29 If ever I See Lydia Maria Child 30 Little Rain-drops Aunt Effie's Rhymes 31 Rain Margaret Deland 31 The Little Lazy Cloud Selected 32 Forest Trees Mother Truth's Melodies t>3 Hide-and-Seek Frank Dempster Sherman 35 A Laughing Chorus Selected 36 The Snowdrop Songs for the Little Ones at Home 37 The First Snowdrop Julia M. Dana 38 In April Emily Gail Arnold 39 The Pussy Willow Selected 40 Pussy Willow Selected 41 Miss Willow Susie E. Kennedy 42 The Polliwog Selected 43 Jack in the Pulpit Whittier 's Child Life 44 Suppose Selected 47 The Arbutus Selected 48 Wishing W. Allingham 49 April Fools Emily Huntington Miller 50 The Mayflowers J. G. Whittier 51 The Flower Bed Selected 52 May Helen B. Curtis 53 Apple Blossoms Selected 54 May R. M. Alden 54 The Violet Barry Cornwall 55 Flower Dances From the German, Mrs. Anderson 56 The Violet Jane Taylor 58 Our Garden Juliana Horatia Ewing 58 Seven times Four Jean Ingelow 60 Field Flowers Selected 61 Almost Time Selected 62 Wake up, Little Daisy Selected 63 The Daisy Selected 64 The Daisy , James Montgomery 65 Dandelion Kate L. Brown 66 Dandelion Nellie M. Garabrant 67 Seven times One . . „ Jean Ingelow 68 The Lilac Clara Doty Bates 69 The Chicken's Mistake Phcebe Gary 70 Rover in Church Selected 71 TABLE OF CONTENTS. i x PAGE Planted Himself to Grow Selected 73 Bird Trades Selected 73 The Little Doves Selected 74 Changelings M. F. Butts 75 Ragged Robin L. A. Twamley 76 The Song of the Storm James Buckham 77 The Ground Laurel Miss H. F. Gould 78 A Bird's Nest Florence Percy 79 Brother Robin Mrs. Anderson 80 The Chimney Nest .Mary Barker Dodge 81 The Robin Celia Thaxter 82 Don't Kill the Birds J. Colesworthy 8^ Anxiety George Macdonald 84 Robert of Lincoln William Cullen Bryant 86 Marjorie's Almanac Thomas Bailey Aldrich 89 The Monkey Mary Howitt 90 The Pigeon House Blades and Flowers 92 Now the Sun is Sinking Selected 92 Lullaby E. Cavazza 93 Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star Jane Taylor 94 The Stars are Coming Selected 95 God's Father-care After the German, C. M. Harris 96 SONGS OF SUMMER. Psalm XXIII Holy Bible 99 The Works of God Jane Taylor 99 The Use of Flowers Mary Howitt 100 We Thank Thee Selected 102 A Song of Summer Selected 102 Merry Sunshine Selected 104 Summer Time Selected 104 The Sunbeam „ Selected 105 Little Sunbeam Laura E. Richards 107 The Four Sunbeams M. K. B. 109 Little Nannie Lucy Larcom in A Summer Day Selected 1 1 2 Music of Nature „ . . . Selected 113 Under the Greenwood Tree William Shakespeare 1 14 Summer Woods Mary Howitt 115 x TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE In the Meadow Selected 115 The River c Samuel G. Goodrich 116 The Clouds . . . Selected 117 The Dew Selected 1 18 Rain in Summer W. C. Bennett 119 Summer Shower. Emily Dickinson 120 A Song of Clover , , " Saxe Holm" 121 Pebbles Frank Dempster Sherman 122 What the Burdock was Good for Selected 122 Lily's Ball Fun and Earnest 1 24 Pansy Song „ . . . Selected 1 25 The Lily of the Valley Percival 1 26 A Child to a Rose Poems for a Child 1 27 Forget-me-not Selected 128 Discontent Susan Coolidge 128 Great-Grandmother's Garden M.J. Jacques 1 30 The Poppy Jane Taylor 1 3 1 Chorus of the Flowers Lucy Wheelock 131 Fashions at the Court of Queen Flora Lydia Hoyt Farmer 133 Who Was She ? Selected 135 The Butterfly Selected 137 The Butterfly's Lesson Selected 137 The Grasshopper The Independent 1 39 The Song of the Bee Marian Douglass 140 The Busy Bee Isaac Watts 141 The Mocking-bird's Song J. R. Drake 142 Suppose Alice Cary 144 Out-of-door Arithmetic Selected 144 Letting the Old Cat Die Selected 145 The Spider and the Fly Mary Howitt 147 O Lark of the Summer Morning From the Japanese 150 The Peacock Songs for the Little Ones at Home 150 VjNTursery Song Mrs. Carter 151 In the Swing ■ Eudora S. Bumstead 153 Good-night and Good-morning Lord Houghton 154 The Bank-swallows Selected 155 Three o'Clock in the Morning R. S. Palfrey 157 Who Stole the Bird's Nest? Lydia Maria Child 158 The Peter-bird Henry Thompson Stanton 160 A Fable Popular Educator 1 62 The Birds' Lawn Party Child Garden 163 TABLE OF CONTENTS. xi PAGE The Happy Bird Selected 166 The Hidden Songster Selected 166 Truant S. A. Hudson 1 67 Ladybird, Ladybird Caroline B. Southey 168 Ladybug, Ladybug „ . Selected 169 Mrs. Brindle's Cowslip Feast Selected 1 70 The Oxen Selected 1 72 Mrs. Pussy Selected 1 75 A Boy's Song " The Ettrick Shepherd " 1 74 The Cotton Plant Selected 1 75 Two of a Trade S. W. Duffield 176 A Summer Lullaby E. S. Bumstead 177 The Song in the Night James Buckham 1 78 Japanese Lullaby Eugene Field 1 79 Cradle Song Caris Brooke 1 80 Childhood Fancies Mother Truth's Melodies 181 SONGS OF AUTUMN. The Seasons Helen Adelaide Ricker 187 Lost : The Summer R. M. Alden 188 Autumn Albert Laighton 189 Autumn Song E. C. Stedman 189 About the Fairies Selected 190 Trifles. Colesworthy 191 Sunshine Selected 192 September Helen Hunt Jackson 193 Goldenrod Mrs. F. J. Lovejoy 193 Goldenrod Selected 194 In September Sunday Afternoon 196 The Spirit of the Sunset Selected 197 Gentian Kate L. Brown 197 Marigolds Susan Hartley 198 The Flax Flower Mary Howitt 199 The Wind Mother Truth's Melodies 201 The Points of the Compass Selected 202 Autumn Leaves Selected 203 The Little Leaves George Cooper 204 A^How the Leaves Come down Susan Coolidge 205 October's Bright Blue Weather Helen Hunt Jackson 206 October's Party Song Stories for Little Folks 208 xii TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE Little by Little Selected 209 A Chance Selected 210 The Chestnut Burr Selected 210 Nutting o Selected 21 1 Little Nut People E. J. Nicholson 212 The Gossip of the Nuts Selected 214 The. Squirrel's Arithmetic Selected 215 Time Enough Selected 216 Plant Song Nellie M. Brown 21 7 Hither, Meadow Gossip, Tell Me ! H. Prescott Beach 218 Maude and the Cricket Selected 219 The Cricket William Cowper 221 The Frog's Good-bye ' Selected 221 The Shining Web Selected 222 The Wandering of the Birds Songs for the Little Ones at Home 223 The Sparrow's Nest Mary Howitt 225 The Wild Rabbits Selected 226 Corn Selected 227 A Lesson Selected 228 The Child and the World Selected 229 A National Flower Lucy Larcom 231 Two Wise Owls Selected 232 Tom Constance Fenimore Woolson 233 The Rainy Day Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 235 November Alice Cary 235 Thanksgiving Day Lydia Maria Child 236 The Raccoon Mother Truths Melodies 238 The Ant an Engineer Selected 239 The Day is Done Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 240 The Setting Sun Selected 242 At Sunset Mattie A. W. Clark 243 Twinkle, Twinkle Mother Truth's Melodies 244 The New Moon Mrs. Follen 245 A Naughty Little Comet Ella Wheeler Wilcox 246 Norse Lullaby Eugene Field 247 Ho, for Slumberland ! Eben C. Rexford 248 Can you Count the Stars? Selected 249 TABLE OF CONTENTS. x iii SONGS OF WINTER. PAGE Morning Hymn Selected 253 Bird with Bosom Red Selected 254 The Four Winds Frank Dempster Sherman 255 What the Winds Bring E. C. Stedman 255 The Fog Mother Truth's Melodies 256 The Rain Mother Truth's Melodies 257 The Little Artist Selected 257 Jack Frost Selected 258 Frost Pictures . Selected 259 The Frost Miss H. F. Gould 261 Little Snowflakes M. M. 262 Help One Another Selected 263 Little Snowflakes Selected 264 The First Snow Selected 264 The Snow-shower Mary Lundie Duncan 265 Little Ships in the Air E. A. Rand 266 The Snow-shower W. C. Bryant 267 The Snow-storm Selected 269 The Disappointed Snowflakes Selected 270 It Snows ! It Snows Mother Truths Melodies 270 Snow A. E. C. 271 The Snow-bird Selected 272 The Snow-bird's Song F. C. Woodward 273 Waiting to Grow Selected 274 Come Here, Little Robin Easy Poetry 275 What the Snow-birds Said Selected 276 Our Sir Robin Selected 278 The Christmas Silence Margaret Deland 278 Merry Christmas Selected 279 Holly Susan Hartley 280 Said Tulip, " That Is So," Madge Elliot 282 Winter Apples Hattie Whitney 283 Dance of the Months Selected 284 The Little Pine Tree From the German, Eudora S. Bumstead 285 Pine Needles Selected 288 Three Trees Selected 288 The Body Selected 290 Two and One Selected 291 What the Coal Says „ . . . . Selected 292 TABLE OF CONTENTS. The Canary's Story E. V. S. 292 The Little Kittens Selected 294 They Didn't Think Phoebe Cary 295 The Beautiful Island of Ceylon Phillips Brooks 297 The Ferry for Shadowtown Motherhood 298 The Star's Ball Ladies' Llome Journal 299 Our Flag Selected 300 Hurrah for the Flag Selected 301 Sweet and Low Tennyson 302 Dutch Lullaby Eugene Field 303 Good-night Sydney Dayre 304 Now the Day is over Sabine Baring-Gould 305 SONGS OF SPRING. o > w ■> CD W X 'S3 -a T3 u C X a) 03 - o 6 n 03 a £ XKc A SONG OF SPRING. I HEARD the bluebird singing To robin in the tree. " Cold winter now is over And spring has come," said he ; " 'Tis time for flowers to rouse from sleep, And from their downy blankets peep ; So wake, wake, little flowers, Wake, for winter is o'er, Wake, wake, wake, The spring has come once more." Said robin to the bluebird, " My nest I now must build, And shortly you shall see it With pretty blue eggs filled. SONGS OF SPRING. Then let us join once more and sing; So wake, wake, little flowers, That all the flowers may know 'tis spring ; Wake, for winter is o'er, Wake, wake, wake, The spring has come once more." The robin and the bluebird Soon after flew away, But as they left the tree-top, I think I heard them say, "If birds and flowers have work to do, Why, so have little children too ; So work, work, little children, Work, for winter is o'er, Work, work, work, The spring has come once more." — Helen C. Bacon. >>Kc THE SUNSHINE'S CARESS. TO the little brown cradles, Where the leaf babies sleep, Came the sunshine with a soft caress, And whispered, " Buds, dear little buds, Throw off your old winter wraps, And put on your new spring dress ; " So said the sunshine with its soft caress. From the cradles they peeped With a timid gaze ; Just to answer this soft caress, 10 NATURE IN VERSE. They quickly courtesied a sweet " Good-day "; Then donned they all new dresses so gay; And they said, " The world we'll bless ; Thank you, Sunshine, for your soft caress." — Miss Jenfrs Songs and Games for Little Ones. ^< SUNBEAMS. MERRY little sunbeams, Flitting here and there ; Joyous little sunbeams, Dancing everywhere. Come they with the morning light, And chase away the gloomy night. Kind words are like sunbeams, That sparkle as they fall; And loving smiles are sunbeams, A light of joy to all. In sorrow's eye they dry the tear, And bring the fainting heart good cheer. — Selected. >XKc THE SUNBEAMS. " "\JOW, what shall I send to the Earth to-day 1 i Said the great, round, golden Sun. " Oh ! let us go down there to work and play," Said the Sunbeams, every one. SONGS OF SPRING. 11 So down to the Earth in a shining crowd, Went the merry, busy crew ; They painted with splendor each floating cloud And the sky while passing through. " Shine on, little Star, it you like," they cried; " We will weave a golden screen That soon all your twinkling and light shall hide, Though the Moon may peep between." The Sunbeams then in through the windows crept, To the children in their beds — They poked at the eyelids of those who slept, Gilded all the little heads. " Wake up, little children ! " they cried in glee, " And from Dreamland come away ! We've brought you a present : wake up and see! We have brought you a sunny day ! " — Emilie Poidsson. >X*< IF I WERE A SUNBEAM. "TF I were a sunbeam, J- I know what I'd do : I would seek white lilies Rainy woodlands through : I would steal among them, Softest light I'd shed, Until every lily Raised its drooping head. 12 NATURE IN VERSE. " If I were a sunbeam, I know where I'd go : Into lowliest hovels, Dark with want and woe : Till sad hearts looked upward, I would shine and shine; Then they'd think of heaven, Their sweet home and mine. Art thou not a sunbeam, Child whose life is glad With an inner radiance Sunshine never had ? Oh, as God has blessed thee, Scatter rays divine ! For there is no sunbeam But must die, or shine. &Hc Lucy Larcom. SPRING HARBINGERS. OUR Mother Earth is in her loom, A-weaving night and day ; Her new spring carpet must be done Before the month of May ! Just see the stripes of red, and green, Of yellow, brown, and blue ! In warp and woof I've never seen A web of such rare hue. SONGS OF SPRING. 13 Our grand snow king is melting down, And never more will rise ; The icicles that spike his crown Have dwindled, too, in size; And busy fingers I behold, That weave with fairy floss, As on the bare rocks, hard and cold, They spread their mats across. My heart leaps high, as, far and wide, Where'er I chance to stray, I find sweet harbingers that hide Their elfin forms away, Down deep within the tangled woods, With that bright swarm of bees, The birds, the butterflies, the buds, That seek such haunts as these. Weave on, weave on, dear Mother Earth, Thy carpet warm and bright, Of warp and woof thou hast no dearth ; And oh, with what delight We'll make its folds spread o'er the land In length and breadth complete ; And praise the kind and loving hand That placed it 'neath our feet. — Selected. 14 NATURE IN VERSE. THE SEED. AS wonderful things are hidden away In the heart of a little brown seed, As ever were found in the fairy net Of which children sometimes read. Over its pretty shining coat We sprinkle the earth so brown, And the sunshine warms its lowly bed, And the rain comes dropping down. Patter, patter, the soft, warm rain Knocks at the tiny door, And two little heads come peeping out, Like a story in fairy lore. One is the Caulicle creeping down, At the first but a wee white root ; The other the Plumule ; above the soil It sends up a little green shoot. Steadily up toils the slender stem, And only its work it heeds ; A leaf appears, buds, blossoms, and fruit, Last of all come the little seeds. Then its work all done, if an annual, It has had its brief, bright day, And now at the touch of the Frost-king's breath It withers and fades away. — Selected. SONGS OF SPUING. 15 WINGED SEEDS. OH, gold-green wings, and bronze-green wings, And rose-tinged wings, that down the breeze Come sailing from the maple trees ! You showering things, you shimmering things, That June-time always brings ! Oh, are you seeds that seek the earth, The shade of lovely leaves to spread ? Or shining angels, that had birth When kindly words were said ? Oh, downy dandelion wings, Wild-floating wings like silver spun, That dance and glisten in the sun ! You airy things, you elfin things, That June-time always brings ! Oh, are you seeds that seek the earth, The light of laughing flowers to spread ? Or flitting fairies, that had birth When merry words were said ? — Helen Gray Cone — St. Nicholas. NATURE'S THOUGHTFULNESS. SO busy is the dear old earth, A-weaving million tresses And making for her forest-trees The freshest of new dresses ; A-spreading carpets o'er the dales Embroidered with sweet posies, A-molding petals velvet soft, And making up her roses : 16 NA TURE IN VERSE. So busy is the dear old earth Her spreading meadows over, A-storing honey in the cells Of her vast fields of clover : A-carving scarlet lily cups, A setting blue-bells ringing, And teaching all her baby birds The newest rules of singing ; So busy is the dear old earth Through every summer morning : — ■ Pray tell me why this eager haste, This marvelous adorning, The fringed petals, tinted cups, The wondrous variation ? — Methinks she's getting ready for Her boys' and girls' vacation. — M. F. Butts. 3*K< WORK. DOWN and up, and up and down, Over and over and over ; Turn in the little seed, dry and brown, Turn out the bright red clover. Work, and the sun your work will share, And the rain in its time will fall ; For Nature, she worketh everywhere, And the grace of God through all. With hand on the spade and heart in the sky, Dress the ground and till it ; SONGS OF SPRING. 17 Turn in the little seed, brown and dry, Turn out the golden millet. Work, and your house shall be duly fed ; Work, and rest shall be won ; I hold that a man had better be dead Than alive, when his work is done ! Down and up, and up and down, On the hill-top, low in the valley ; Turn in the little seed, dry and brown, Turn out the rose and lily. Work, with a plan, or without a plan, And your ends shall be shaped true ; Work, and learn at first-hand, like a man — The best way to know is to do ! Down and up till life shall close, Ceasing not your praises ; Turn in the wild, white winter snows, Turn out the sweet spring daisies. Work, and the sun your work will share, And the rain in its time will fall ; For Nature, she worketh everywhere, And the grace of God through all. — Selected. >**c HOW THE WIND BLOWS! H IGH and low The spring winds blow ! They take the kites that the boys have made, And carry them off high into the air ; c 18 NATURE IN VERSE. They snatch the little girls' hats away, And toss and tangle their flowing hair. High and low The summer winds blow ! They dance and play with the garden flowers, And bend the grasses and yellow grain ; They rock the bird in her hanging nest, And dash the rain on the window-pane. High and low The autumn winds blow ! They frighten the bees and blossoms away, And whirl the dry leaves over the ground ; They shake the branches of all the trees, And scatter ripe nuts and apples around. High and low The winter winds blow ! They fill the hollows with drifts of snow, And sweep on the hills a pathway clear ; They hurry the children along to school, And whistle a song for the happy New Year. — Selected. >ttc MERRY RAIN. SPRINKLE, sprinkle, comes the rain, Tapping on the window-pane ! Trickling, coursing, Crowding, forcing, Tiny rills To the dripping window-sills. SONGS OF SPRING. 19 Laughing rain-drops, light and swift, Through the air they fall and sift ; Dancing, tripping, Bounding, skipping, Through the street, With their thousand merry feet. Every blade of grass around Is a ladder to the ground ; Clinging, striding, Slipping, sliding, On they come With their busy, patt'ring hum. In the woods, by twig and spray, To the roots they find their way; Rushing, creeping, Doubling, leaping, Down they go To the waiting life below. O the brisk and merry rain, Bringing gladness in its train ! Falling, glancing, Tinkling, dancing, All around — Listen to its cheery sound ! — Selected. 20 NATURE IN VERSE. APRIL SHOWER. PATTER, patter, let it pour, Patter, patter, let it roar ; Down the steep roof let it rush, Down the hillside let it gush ; 'Tis the welcome April shower, Which will wake the sweet Maynower c Patter, patter, let it pour, Patter, patter, let it roar; Let the vivid lightning flash, Let the headlong thunder dash, 'Tis the welcome April shower, Which will wake the sweet Mayflower. Patter, patter, let it pour, Patter, patter, let it roar ; Soon the clouds will burst away, Soon will shine the bright spring day, Soon the welcome April shower Will awake the sweet Mayflower. :>XX< Selected. WHO LIKES THE RAIN? " T " SAID the duck, " I call it fun, JL> For I have my little red rubbers on ; They make a cunning three-toed track In the soft, cool mud. Quack ! Quack ! Quack ! " SONGS OF SPRING. 21 " I," cried the dandelion, " I, My roots are thirsty, my buds are dry ; " And she lifted a towsled yellow head Out of her green and grassy bed. " I hope 'twill pour ! I hope 'twill pour ! " Purred the tree-toad at his gray back door, " For, with a broad leaf for a roof, I am perfectly weather proof." Sang the brook : " I laugh at every drop, And wish they never need to stop Till a big, big river I grew to be, And could find my way out to the sea." " I," shouted Ted, " for I can run, With my high-top boots and my rain-coat on, Through every puddle and runlet and pool That I find on my way to school." — Clara Doty Bates. >K^c STOP, STOP, PRETTY WATER. STOP, stop, pretty water!" Said Mary one day, To a frolicsome brook That was running away. " You run on so fast ! I wish you would stay : My boat and my flowers You will carry away. 22 NATURE IN VERSE. " But I will run after : Mother says that I may ; For I would know where You are running away." So Mary ran on ; But I have heard say, That she never could find Where the brook ran away. Mrs. Follen. THE VOICE OF THE GRASS. HERE I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; By the dusty roadside, On the sunny hillside, Close by the noisy brook, In every shady nook, I come creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; All around the open door, Where sit the aged poor, Here where the children play, In the bright, merry May, I come creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; In the noisy city street, My pleasant face you'll meet Cheering the sick at heart, Toiling his busy part, Silently creeping, creeping everywhere. SONGS OF SPRING. 23 Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; You cannot see me coming, You hear my low, sweet humming ; For in the starry night, And the glad morning light, I come, quietly creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; When you're numbered with the dead In your still and narrow bed, In the happy spring I'll come, And deck your silent home, Creeping silently, creeping everywhere. — Mary Howitt. THE GRASS. THE grass has so little to do, — A spear of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain, And stir all day to pretty tunes The breezes fetch along, And hold the sunshine in its lap, And bow to everything ; And thread the dews all night, like pearls, And make itself so fine, — A duchess were too common For such a noticing. 24 NATURE IN VERSE. And even when it dies, to pass In odors so divine, — As lowly spices gone to sleep, Or amulets of pine. And then to dwell in sovereign barns, And dream the days away, — The grass so little has to do, I wish I were the hay ! — Emily Dickinson. :>>©<< THE CROCUS'S SOLILOQUY. DOWN in my solitude under the snow, Where nothing cheering can reach me — Here, without light to see how to grow, I'll trust to Nature to teach me. I will not despair, nor be idle, nor frown, Locked in so gloomy a dwelling ; My leaves shall run up, and my roots shall run down, While the bud in my bosom is swelling. Soon as the frost will get out of my bed, From this cold dungeon to free me, I will peep up with my little bright head, And all will be joyful to see me. Then from my heart will young petals diverge, As rays of the sun from their focus ; I from the darkness of earth will emerge, A happy and beautiful crocus. SONGS OF SPFING. 25 Gayly arrayed in my yellow and green, When to their view I have risen, Will they not wonder how one so serene Came from so dismal a prison ? Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower, This little lesson may borrow, — Patient to-day, through its gloomiest hour, We come out the brighter to-morrow. —Miss H. F. Gould. 3^C THE VENTURESOME BUDS. LAST autumn, when winter was taking His last cosy nap in his bed, And each little leaf bud was sleeping, With blankets pulled over its head, We crept half-way out of our cradles ; The sun kissed us sadly ; the air Was colder, by far, than we liked it ; The pines whispered softly — " Beware ! ' But just then old Winter came roaring And rushing down over the hill : — At the first awful blast of the trumpet Our poor little hearts stood still. He clutched us so with cold fingers We nearly were choking to death ; And rustled us so with his breezes We came near to losing our breath. 26 NATURE IN VERSE. And then growing tenderer towards us, He made us white hoods, warm and nice, And fastened them under our noses With quaint little buckles of ice. But, an hour ago, a dear bluebird Perched here on our trembling spray, And sang, and sang, and sang, and sang, Till he sang old Winter away. Now we must each meet the springtime With a frost-bitten nose or an ear. We shall sleep like all the sensible buds When Winter comes round next year. —A. C. 3>*C THE TREE. THE Tree's early leaf -buds were bursting their brown : " Shall I take them away ? " said the Frost, sweep- ing down. " No, let them alone Till the blossoms have grown," Prayed the Tree, while it trembled from rootlet to crown. The Tree bore its blossoms and all the birds sung : " Shall I take them away ? " said the Wind, as it swung. u No, let them alone Till the berries have grown," Said the Tree, while its leaflets, quivering, hung. SONGS OF SPRING. 27 The Tree bore its fruit in the midsummer glow : Said the girl, " May I gather thy sweet berries now ? " " Yes, all thou canst see : Take them ; all are for thee," Said the Tree, while it bent down its laden boughs low. — Bj'dmstjerne Bjornson. >>*« THE TREE. I LOVE thee when thy swelling buds appear, And one by one their tender leaves unfold, As if they knew that warmer suns were near, Nor longer sought to hide from winter's cold ; And when with darker growth thy leaves are seen To veil from view the early robin's nest, I love to lie beneath thy waving screen, With limbs by summer's heat and toil oppressed ; And when the autumn winds have stripped thee bare, And round thee lies the smooth, untrodden snow, When naught is thine that made thee once so fair, I love to watch thy shadowy form below, And through thy leafless arms to look above On stars that brighter beam when most we need their love — Jones Very. NATURE IN VERSE. THE WEATHER-COCK'S COMPLAINT. NO wonder he creaks as the winds go by, No wonder he turns with a misty sigh ; How would you like a living earning By turning — turning — turning — turning ? Or to stand all your life with a pole for a base And the winds of all weathers to blow in your face ? " Creak, creak, creak," we hear him say, " To-morrow will be like yesterday, — Now to the east, now to the west — One never has any quiet or rest ; An hour of sunshine, another of rain, It's nothing but turning and turning again." " Creak, creak, creak," the tin bird cries, " In quite a few signs the secret lies ; When the wind's from the west, there's nothing to fear When the wind's from the east, a storm is near : Can't every one tell when the day is clear Without keeping me turning and twisting here ? " " Creak, creak, creak," the weather-cock growls, " I think I'm the most ill used of fowls; I never foretold bad weather yet But you went in while I got wet ; Say what you may, I don't think it's right To keep me twisting from morning to night." — Selected. SONGS OF SPRING. 29 THE LEAFLETS. DANCE, little leaflets, dance, 'Neath the tender sky of Spring; Dance in the golden sun, To the tune that the robins sing. Now you are light and young, Just fit for a baby play ; So dance, little leaflets, dance, And welcome the merry May. Sway, little leaflets, sway, In the ardent sunlight's glow ; Oh, what a sleepy world ! For August has come, you know. Many a drowsy bird Is drooping its golden crest, So sway, little leaves, and rock The orioles in their nests. Swing, little leaflets, swing ; The quail pipes in the corn ; Under the harvest sun, The cardinal flow'r is born. Russet and gold and red, Little leaves are gayly dress'd ; Is it holiday time with you That you have put on your best ? Fall, little leaflets, fall, Your mission is not sped; Shrill pipes the Winter wind, And the happy Summer's dead. I 30 NATURE IN VERSE. Make now a blanket warm, For the leaves till the Spring-winds call ; You must carpet the waiting earth, So fall, little leaflets, fall. — Kate L. Brown. >XKc IF EVER I SEE. F ever I see, On bush or tree, Young birds in their pretty nest, I must not, in play, Steal the birds away, To grieve their mother's breast. My mother, I know, Would sorrow so, Should I be stolen away ; So I'll speak to the birds In my softest words Nor hurt them in my play. And when they can fly In the bright blue sky, They'll warble a song to me ; And then if I'm sad It will make me glad To think they are happy and free. — Lydia Maria Child. SONGS OF SPRING. 31 LITTLE RAIN-DROPS. OH, where do you come from P You little drops of rain, Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, Down the window-pane ? They say I'm very naughty, But I've nothing else to do, But sit here at the window ; I should like to play with you. Tell me, little rain-drops, Is that the way you play, Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, All the rainy day ? The little rain-drops cannot speak, But " pitter-patter, pat " Means, "We can play on this side; Why can't you play on that ? " — Selected. RAIN. " Rain, rain, go away, Come again another day ! " OH, the dancing leaves are merry, And the bloss'ming grass is glad, But the river's too rough for the ferry And the sky is low and sad. Yet the daisies shake with laughter As the surly wind goes by, 32 NATURE IN VERSE. For they know what is hurrying after, As they watch the dim, gray sky ; The clovers are rosy with saying — (The buttercups bend to hear) "Oh, be patient, it is only delaying — Be glad, for it's very near." The blushing pimpernel closes ; It isn't because it grieves — And down in the garden, the roses Smile out from their lattice of leaves ! Such gladness has stirred the flowers ! Yet children only complain : " Oh, what is the use of showers ? " " Oh, why does it ever rain ? " — Margaret Deland. 3^XC THE LITTLE LAZY CLOUD. A PRETTY little cloud away up in the sky, Said it did not care if the earth was dry : 'Twas having such a nice time sailing all around, It wouldn't, no, it wouldn't, tumble on the ground. So the pretty little lilies hung their aching heads, And the golden pansies cuddled in their beds ; The cherries couldn't grow a bit, you would have pitied them ; They'd hardly strength to hold to the little slender stem. SONGS OF SPRING. 33 By and by the little cloud felt a dreadful shock, Just as does a boat when it hits upon a rock ; Something ran all through it, burning like a flame, And the little cloud began to cry as down to earth it came. Then old Grandpa Thunder, as he growled away, Said, " I thought I'd make you mind 'fore another day : Little clouds were meant to fall when the earth is dry, And not go sailing round away up in the sky." And old Grandma Lightning, flitting to and fro, Said, " What were you made for, I would like to know, That you spend your precious time sailing all around, When you know you ought to be buried in the ground ? " Then lilies dear and pansies all began to bloom, And the cherries grew and grew till they took up all the room. Then by and by the little cloud, with all its duty done, Was caught up by a rainbow and allowed a little fun. — Selected. FOREST TREES. CHILDREN, have you seen the budding Of the trees in valleys low ? Have you watched it creeping, creeping Up the mountain, soft and slow ? Weaving there a plush-like mantle, Brownish, grayish, reddish green, Changing, changing, daily, hourly, Till it smiles in emerald sheen ? 34 NATURE IN VERSE Have you watched the shades so varied, From the graceful, little white birch, Faint and tender, to the balsam's Evergreen, so dark and rich ? Have you seen the quaint mosaics Gracing all the mountain-sides, Where they, mingling, intertwining, Sway like softest mid-air tides ? Have you seen the autumn frostings Spread in all the leafage bright, — Frostings of the rarest color, Red and yellow, dark and light ? Have you seen the glory painted On the mountain, valley, hill, When the landscape, all illumined, Blazons forth His taste and skill ? Have you seen the foliage, dropping, Tender cling, as loth to leave Mother-trees that taught them deftly All their warp and woof to weave ? Have you seen the leafless branches Tossing wildly 'gainst the blue ? Have you seen the soft gray beauty Of their wintry garments' hue ? Have you thought the resurrection Seen in Nature year by year Is a symbol of our rising In a higher, holier sphere ? Children, ye are buds maturing ; Make your autumn rich and grand, That your winter be a passage Through the gates to Glory-land. — Mother Trutfts Melodies. SONGS OF SPRING. 35 HIDE-AND-SEEK. NOW hide the flowers beneath the snow. And Winter shall not find them ; Their safety nooks he cannot know ; They left no tracks behind them. The little brooks keep very still, Safe in their ice-homes lying ; Let Winter seek them where he will, There's no chance for his spying. Gone are the birds ; they're hiding where The Winter never searches ; Safe in the balmy Southern air, They sing on sunlit perches. But comes the Spring at last to look For all her playmates hidden, And one by one — flower, bird, and brook — Shall from its place be bidden. Then shall the world be glad and gay, The birds begin their chorus, The brooks sing, too, along their way, And flowers spring up before us ! Frank Dempster Sherman. 36 NATURE IN VERSE. A LAUGHING CHORUS. OH, such a commotion under the ground When March called, " Ho, there ! ho ! " Such spreading of rootlets far and wide, Such whispering to and fro ; And, " Are you ready ? " the Snowdrop asked, " 'Tis time to start, you know." "Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied; " I'll follow as soon as you go." Then, " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " a chorus came Of laughter soft and low, From the millions of flowers under the ground — Yes — millions — beginning to grow. " I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said, "When I hear the bluebirds sing." And straight thereafter, Narcissus cried, " My silver and gold I'll bring." "And ere they are dulled," another spoke, "The Hyacinth bells shall ring." And the Violet only murmured, " I'm here," And sweet grew the air of spring. Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came Of laughter soft and low, From the millions of flowers under the ground — Yes — millions — beginning to grow. Oh, the pretty, brave things ! through the coldest days, Imprisoned in walls of brown, They never lost heart though the blast shrieked loud, And the sleet and the hail came down, SONGS OF SPRING. 37 But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress, Or fashioned her beautiful crown ; And now they are coming to brighten the world, Still shadowed by Winter's frown ; And well may they cheerily laugh, " Ha ! ha ! " In a chorus soft and low, The millions of flowers hid under the ground — Yes — millions — beginning to grow. — Selected. THE SNOWDROP. NOW the spring is coming on, Now the snow and ice are gone, Come, my little snowdrop root, Will you not begin to shoot ? Ah, I see your little head Peeping from the flower-bed ; Looking out so green and gay, On this fine and pleasant day. For the mild south wind doth blow, And hath melted all the snow ; And the sun shines out so warm, You need not fear another storm. So your pretty flowers show, And your petals white undo ; Then you'll hang your modest head Down upon my flower-bed. — Songs for the Little Ones at Home. 38 NATURE IN VERSE. THE FIRST SNOWDROP. " T WANT to get up," the Snowdrop said, JL As she loosened the wraps about her head. " It may be the world is white with snow, Yet I'd rather be there than here below. 'Tis horrid to be curled up so tight — I want to look out and see the light. " My dear little sisters are fast asleep, And I am the first to take a peep Out of my bed, where, snugly rolled, I slept in warm blankets, fold on fold. But now I am ever so wide awake. And it's surely time for the morn to break. " My dress is the prettiest e'er was seen; 'Tis white, with an overskirt of green, With six pretty silken cords that hold As many tiny tassels of gold. Oh, I have been working, never fear, To look my best, when I do appear. " And I must welcome the song-birds home, There seems such a stirring all around, And I hear new voices above the ground. The buds on the willows are calling, 'Come'; For this is the message they bring, I guess, ' Get up, little maid ; it is time to dress.' " — Julia M. Dana. SONGS OF SPRING. 39 IN APRIL. THE air is soft and balmy, The grass is growing green, The maple buds are swelling, Till their slender threads are seen. The brown brook chatters gayly Its rippling course along, And hark ! — from distant tree-top I hear the bluebird's song. O joyous, gladsome carol, Exultant, fearless, true ! There is hidden a heavenly message 'Neath that coat of heavenly blue. My heart thrills as I listen ; God's love is sure and strong. Thank Him for life's awakening! Praise for the bluebird's song ! After the winter, springtime, The sunshine follows rain ; Tho' grief and sorrow chill us, The heart grows warm again. From earth to His glad heaven God will His loved ones bring ; Still, after frosts and snowdrifts, We hear the bluebirds sing. — Einily Gail Arnold. 40 NA TURE IN VERSE. THE PUSSY WILLOW. DAINTY pussy willows On a swaying bough Sang awhile to springtime, Soft and low. What we heard them telling In the splashing rain We will tell to you again. "Yes, we are pussies, Though we never purr ; See, we are dressed In softest fur. Children reach to gather us With loving care As we gently sway in air. " Come the gentle bluebirds When the warm winds blow. Do we ever catch them ? Oh, no ! no ! We are no such pussies — Sad would be the spring Did the dear birds never sing. " By and by the rain came Knocking at the door ; Sunbeams coaxed us Sleep no more ! Out we sprang delighted ; Now w£ gayly sing, Through the merry hours of spring." Selected. SONGS OF SPUING. 41 PUSSY WILLOW. THE brook is brimmed with melting snow, The maple sap is running, And on the highest elm a crow His coal-black wings is sunning. A close, green bud, the Mayflower lies Upon its mossy pillow ; And sweet and low the south wind blows, And through the brown fields calling goes, " Come, Pussy ! Pussy Willow ! Within your close, brown wrapper stir ; Come out and show your silver fur ; Come, Pussy ! Pussy Willow ! " Soon red will bud the maple trees, The bluebirds will be singing, And yellow tassels in the breeze Be from the poplars swinging ; And rosy will the Mayflower lie Upon its mossy pillow ; " But you must come the first of all, — Come, Pussy ! " is the south wind's call, — " Come, Pussy ! Pussy Willow ! A fairy gift to children dear, The downy firstling of the year, — Come, Pussy ! Pussy Willow ! " — Selected. 42 NATURE IN VERSE. MISS WILLOW. A LADY so fine came out of the woods, All dressed in silvery gray, Whether satin or velvet, or soft woolen goods, I'm sure I'm not able to say. While great drifts were piled in hedgerow and plain, While fiercely the March winds did blow, And wildly the tempest in mockery raged, This lady stepped out in the snow. I asked a young ash which grew by the wall, To tell me the fine lady's name ; "Oh yes," he made answer, "no trouble at all; She has a most enviable fame. " So modest is she, so dainty and sweet, Most dearly I love her, 'tis true, But if no objection the young lady brings, I'll make her acquainted with you. " Miss Willow, my friend, Mr. Love-Nature here, Your friendship has gallantly sought," Then, in a low whisper, he laughingly said, "We call her Miss Pussy for short." — Susie E. Kennedy. t SONGS OF SPRING. 43 THE POLLIWOG. A TINY little polliwog And little brothers three, Lived in the water near a log, As happy as could be. A-swimming, swimming all the day, A-sleeping all the night, And trying, though they were so gay, To do just what was right. A-growing, growing all the while, Because they did their best ; But I'm afraid that you will smile When I tell you the rest. One morning, sitting on the log, They looked in mute surprise ; Four legs had every polliwog, Where two had met their eyes. Their mother, letting fall a tear, Said, " Oh, my polliwogs, It can't be you that're sitting here S " For all of them were frogs. And with their legs they'd grown some lungs ; So you just wait and see ; In summer time their little tongues Will sing " Ka-chink " with glee. — Selected. 44 NATURE IN VERSE. JACK IN THE PULPIT. JACK in the pulpit Preaches to-day Under the green trees Just over the way. Squirrel and song-sparrow High on their perch Hear the sweet lily-bells Ringing to church. Come, hear what his reverence Rises to say, In his low, painted pulpit This calm Sabbath day. Fair is the canopy Over him seen, Penciled by Nature's hand, Black, brown and green. Green is his surplice, Green are his bands ; In his queer little pulpit The little priest stands. In black and gold velvet, So gorgeous to see, Comes with his bass voice The chorister bee. Green fingers playing Unseen on wind-lyres — Low singing bird voices — These are his choirs. The violets are deacons — - I know by the sign That the cups which they carry SONGS OF SPRING. 45 Are purple with wine ; And the columbines bravely As sentinels stand On the lookout with all their Red trumpets in hand. Meek-faced anemones, Drooping and sad ; Great yellow violets, Smiling out glad ; Buttercups' faces, Beaming and bright ; Clovers, with bonnets — Some red and some white ; Daisies, their white fingers Half clasped in prayer ; Dandelions, proud of The gold of their hair ; Innocents, — children, Guileless and frail, Meek little faces Upturned and pale ; Wildwood geraniums, All in their best, Languidly leaning, In purple gauze dressed ; — All are assembled This sweet Sabbath day, To hear what the priest In his pulpit will say. Look ! white Indian pipes On the green mosses lie ! Who has been smoking Profanely so nigh ? Rebuked by the preacher, 46 NATURE IN VERSE. The mischief is stopped ; But the sinners, in haste, Have their little pipes dropped. Let the wind, with the fragrance Of fern and black birch, Blow the smell of the smoking Clean out of the church. So much for the preacher ; The sermon comes next. Shall we tell how he preached it And what was his text ? Alas ! like too many Grown-up folks who play At worship in churches Man-builded to-day, We heard not the preacher Expound or discuss ; But we looked at the people, And they looked at us. We saw all their dresses, Their colors and shapes, The trim of their bonnets, The cut of their capes. We heard the wind-organ, The bee and the bird, But of Jack in the Pulpit We heard not a word. — Whittier" s Child Life. SONGS OF SPRING. 47 SUPPOSE. SUPPOSE the little cowslip Should hang its golden cup, And say, " I'm such a tiny flower, I'd better not grow up " ; How many a weary traveler Would miss its fragrant smell ; And many a little child would grieve To lose it from the dell. Suppose the little breezes, Upon a summer's day, Should think themselves too small To cool the traveler on his way ; Who would not miss the smallest And softest ones that blow, And think they made a great mistake, If they were talking so ? Suppose the little dewdrop Upon the grass should say, " What can a little dewdrop do ? I'd better roll away." The blade on which it rested, Before the day was done, Without a drop to moisten it, Would wither in the sun. How many deeds of kindness A little child can do, Although it has but little strength And little wisdom, too ! 48 NATURE IN VERSE. It wants a loving spirit, Much more than strength, to prove How many things a child may do For others by its love. — Selected. 3X*C THE ARBUTUS. IT trailed on a sheltered hillside Where in summer grew woodland fern, And the sunbeam's warm kisses fell on it, Close nestled in coppice and heme ! The faded leaves covered it softly, But when March passed over its bed, It wakened affrighted to listen And raised up its fair little head. And when our dear April so gentle, With its warm tears the little face kissed, It spread out its green leaves above it, And blushed very sweetly, I wist. And when I had gone to the hillside To welcome the springtime so new, I was led by the delicate fragrance To the place where the arbutus grew. O timid and sweet little blossom ! A lesson thou bringest to me — Though thy life it is fair in beholding, It is hidden in humility. — Selected. SONGS OF SPRING. 49 WISHING. RING-TING ! I wish I were a primrose, A bright yellow primrose blooming in the spring ! The stooping boughs above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, And the elm-tree for our king ! Nay — stay ! I wish I were an elm-tree, A great, lofty elm-tree with green leaves gay ! The winds would set them dancing, The sun and moonshine glance in, The birds would house among the boughs, And ever sweetly sing ! O — no ! I wish I were a robin, A robin or a little wren, everywhere to go ; Through forest, field, or garden, And ask no leave or pardon, Till winter comes with icy thumbs To ruffle up our wings ! Well — tell ! Where should I fly to, Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell ? Before a day was over, • Home comes the rover, For mother's kiss, — sweeter this Than any other thing. — W. Allingham. 50 NATURE INVERSE. APRIL FOOLS. SHY little pansies Tucked away to sleep, Wrapped in brown blankets Piled snug and deep, Heard in a day-dream A bird singing clear : " Wake, little sweethearts ; The springtime is here ! " Glad little pansies, Stirring from their sleep, Shook their brown blankets Off for a peep, Put on their velvet hoods, Purple and gold, And stood all a-tremble Abroad in the cold. Snowflakes were flying, Skies were grim and gray, Bluebird and robin Had scurried away ; Only the cruel wind Laughed as it said, " Poor little April fools, Hurry back to bed ! " Soft chins a-quiver, Dark eyes full of tears, Brave little pansies, Spite of their fears, SONGS OF SPRING. 51 Said, " Let us wait for The sunshiny weather ; Take hold of hands, dears, And cuddle up together." — Emily H. Miller, THE MAYFLOWERS. SAD Mayflower ! watched by winter stars, And nursed by winter gales, With petals of the sleeted spars, And leaves of frozen sails ! What had she in those dreary hours, Within her ice-rimmed bay, In common with the wildwood flowers, The first sweet smiles of May ? Yet, " God be praised ! " the Pilgrims said, Who saw the blossoms peer Above the brown leaves, dry and dead ; " Behold our Mayflower here ! " God wills it : here our rest shall be, Our years of wandering o'er, For us the Mayflower of the sea Shall spread her sails no more." O sacred flowers of faith and hope ! As sweetly now as then Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, In many a pine-dark glen. 52 NATURE IN VERSE. Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, Unchanged, your leaves unfold, Like love behind the manly strength Of the brave hearts of old. So live the fathers in their sons : Their sturdy faith be ours And ours the love that overruns Its rocky strength with flowers. The Pilgrim's wild and wintry day Its shadow round us draws ; The Mayflower of his stormy bay, Our freedom's struggling cause. But warmer suns erelong shall bring To life the frozen sod; And, through dead leaves of hope, shall spring Afresh the flowers of God ! — J. G. Whittier. :>*>« THE FLOWER BED. BABY, what do the blossoms say, Down in the garden walk ? They nod and bend in the twilight gray ; Say ! can you hear them talk ? They say, " Oh, darling baby bright, We're going to sleep ! good night, good night ! The gentle breezes have come to sing How God takes care of everything." SONGS OF SPRING. 53 Baby, what does the robin say, Do you hear his evening song ? He sits and sings his twilight lay, With a heart all merry and strong. He sings, " Good night, my baby dear; Sleep well, sleep soft, and do not fear ; For somehow I know as I sit and sing, That God takes care of everything." — Selected. 3>*C MAY. STARTING, starting from the earth. See the pretty flowers ! Wakened from their winter's sleep By the springtime showers. Now we know that May hath come, O'er the meadows dancing; Robin lilts his sweetest song, Sunbeams round him glancing. Bluebird 's knocking at the door, Swallow 's hither coming ; And, o'er all the sunny mead, Springtime bees are humming. Golden sunshine, silver rain, Each its work is doing. Birds and bees and blossoms fair, Now the world renewing. 54 NATURE IN VERSE. O thou merry month o' May ! We have come to meet you ; Little lads and lassies gay, Happily we greet you. From your pretty flowers, dear, We will take a warning ; And we'll try our work to do In life's fair May morning. — Helen D. Curtis. APPLE BLOSSOMS, THE orchard trees are white, For the bright May sun is shining, And the blossoms show Like a drift of snow, From a cloud with a rosy lining. And two little bright blue eyes, With a sweet surprise are glowing ; " Oh ! mamma, I see A popcorn tree And the corn-ball just a-growing." — Selected. 3^C MAY. WHY are bees and butterflies Dancing in the sun ? Violets and buttercups Blooming, every one ? SONGS OF SPRING. 55 Why does Mr. Bobolink Seem so shocking gay ? Why does — ah ! I'd half forgot ! This is really May. Why are all the water-bugs Donning roller-skates ? And the solemn lady-bugs Dozing on the gates ? Why do all the meadow brooks Try to run away, As though some one were chasing them ? Bless me ! this is May. Please to tell me why the trees Have put new bonnets on ? Please to tell me why the crows Their picnics have begun ? Why does all the whole big world Smell like a fresh bouquet Picked from one of God's flower beds ? Oh, I know ! it's May. — R. M. Alden — The Pansy. o^K< THE VIOLET. I LOVE all things the seasons bring, All buds that start, all birds that sing, All leaves from white to jet, All the sweet words that summer sends, When she recalls her flowery friends, But chief — the Violet ! 56 NATURE IN VERSE. I love, how much I love the rose, On whose soft lips the south wind blows, In pretty amorous threat ; The lily paler than the moon, The odorous, wondrous world of June, Yet more — the Violet ! She comes, the first, the fairest thing That Heaven upon the earth doth fling, Ere Winter's star is set : She dwells behind her leafy screen, And gives, as angels give, unseen, So, love — the Violet ! What modest thoughts the Violet teaches, What gracious boons the Violet preaches, Bright maiden, ne'er forget ! But learn, and love, and so depart, And sing thou with thy wiser heart, " Long live the Violet ! " — Barry Cornwall. >>K< FLOWER DANCES. IN May the valley lilies ring, Their bells chime clear and sweet ; They cry, "Come forth, ye flowerets all, And dance with twinkling feet." The blossoms, gold and blue and white, Come quickly, one and all ; The speedwell, the forget-me-not, The violets hear the call. SONGS OF SPRING. 57 Then in a trice the lilies play, While all to dance begin : The moon looks on with friendly smile, And takes great joy therein. Then sadly vexed is Master Frost, Down to the vale comes he ; Lilies play dancing tunes no more, The pretty blossoms flee. Yet Frost has scarcely left the vale, When lilies far and near Call quickly to the Springtide feast ; Their bells ring doubly clear. I'll stay no longer in the house ; The lilies call me, too ; Sweet flowerets, dancing out-of-doors, I come to dance with you. — From the German by Mrs. Anderson. ^^Kc THE VIOLET. DOWN in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew ; Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view. And yet it was a lovely flower, Its color bright and fair ; It might have graced a rosy bower Instead of hiding there. 58 NATURE IN VERSE. Yet there it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed ; And there diffused its sweet perfume Within the silent shade. Then let me to the valley go, This pretty flower to see, That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility. — Jane Taylor. >&<< OUR GARDEN. THE winter is gone, and at first Jack and I were sad, Because of the snow-man's melting, but now we are glad; For the spring has come, and it's warm, and we're allowed to garden in the afternoon ; And summer is coming, and oh, how lovely our flowers will be in June ! We are so fond of flowers, it makes us quite happy to think Of our beds — all colors — blue, white, yellow, purple, and pink, Scarlet, lilac, and crimson ! And we're fond of sweet scents as well, And mean to have pinks, roses, sweet peas, mignonette, clove carnations, and everything good to smell. SONGS OF SPRING. 59 On Monday we went to the wood and got primrose plants and a sucker of dog-rose ; It looks like a green stick in the midst of the bed at present, but wait till it blows ! The primroses were in full flower, and the rose ought to flower soon ; You've no idea how lovely it is in that wood in June ! The primroses look quite withered now I am sorry to say; But that's not our fault, but nurse's, and it shows how hard it is to garden when you can't have your own way. We planted them carefully and were just going to water them all in a lump, When nurse fetched us both indoors, and put us to bed for wetting our pinafores at the pump. We're going to take everything up, — for it can't hurt the plants to stand on the grass for a minute. And you really can't make a bed smooth with so many things in it. We shall dig it all over, and get leaf-mold from the wood, and hoe up the weeds ; And when it's tidy, we shall plant and put labels and strike cuttings and sow seeds. We are so fond of flowers ! Jack and I often dream at night Of getting up and finding our garden ablaze with all colors, — blue, red, yellow, and white ; And midsummer's coming, and our big brother Tom will sit under the tree With his book, and Mary will beg sweet nosegays of me. 60 NATURE IN VERSE. It's so tiresome ! Jack wants to build a greenhouse now. He has found some bits of broken glass and an old window frame, and he says he knows how. I tell him there's not glass enough, but he says there's lots. And he's taken all the plants that belong to the bed and put them into pots. — Juliana Horatia Riving. ^c SEVEN TIMES FOUR. HEIGH HO ! daisies and buttercups, Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall ! When the wind wakes how they rock in the grasses, And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small ! Here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own lasses, Eager to gather them all. Heigh ho ! daisies and buttercups ! Mother shall thread them a daisy chain ; Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow, That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain ; Sing, " Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow " — Sing once, and sing it again. Heigh ho ! daisies and buttercups, Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow ; A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters, And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters, Maybe he thinks on you now ! SONGS OF SPRING. 61 Heigh ho ! daisies and buttercups, Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall — A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure, And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall ! Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure, God that is over us all ! — Jean Ingelow. 3^^C FIELD FLOWERS. FIELD flowers, sweet field flowers, Fairies of the spring, Only those who love them Know the joy they bring. Love can but discover With their beauty, worth, Jeweling all over All the bright green earth. Field flowers, sweet field flowers, Fairies of the spring, Only those who love them, Know the joy they bring. Field flowers, sweet field flowers, Everywhere they come, Whereso'er, unseeking, You may chance to roam. With their smiles to meet us On each path of ours, 62 NATURE IN VERSE. All unsought to greet us, Come the sweet field flowers. Field flowers, sweet field flowers, Fairies of the spring, Only those who love them, Know the joy they bring. >**< — Selected. ALMOST TIME. ALMOST time for the pretty white daisies Out of their sleep to awaken at last, And over the meadows, with grasses and clover, To bud and to blossom, and grow so fast; Almost time for the buttercups yellow, The ferns and the flowers, the roses and all, To waken from slumber, and merrily listen To gladden our hearts at the spring's first call. Almost time for the skies to grow bluer, And breezes to soften, and days to grow long ; For eyes to grow brighter, and heai ts to grow gladder And earth to rejoice in her jubilant song; Almost time for the sweetest of seasons ; Nearer it comes with each new-born day, And soon the smile of the beautiful springtime Winter's cold shadow will chase away. — Selected. SONGS OF SPRING. 63 THE DAISY. THE daisy is the meekest flower That grows in wood or field ; To wind and rain, and footsteps rude, Its slender stem will yield. In spring it dots the green with white, And blossoms all the year, And so it is a favorite flower, With all the children dear. Before the stars are in the sky, The daisy goes to rest, And folds its little shining leaves Upon its golden breast. So children when they go to bed Should fold their hands in prayer. And place themselves and all they love, In God's protecting care. — Selected. w 64 NATURE IN VERSE. WAKE UP, LITTLE DAISY. WAKE up, little Daisy, the summer is nigh, The dear little robin is up in the sky ; The snow-drop and crocus are never so slow, Then, wake up, little Daisy, and hasten to grow. Wake up, wake up, wake up, little Daisy, And hasten to grow. I tease pleasant sunshine to rest on your head, The dew and the rain-drops to moisten your bed, And then every morning I just take a peep, To see your little face, but you're still fast asleep. Wake up, wake up, wake up, little Daisy, And hasten to grow. Mother often tells me, if I would be wise, And honored, and happy, I early must rise ; So I'm up in the morning, and out in the dew, With all the little birds, and the honey-bees too. Wake up, wake up, wake up, little Daisy, And hasten to grow. Listen, little Daisy, I'll tell you what's said, The lark thinks you're lazy, and love your warm bed, But I'll not believe it, for now I can see Your bright little eyes softly winking at me. Wake up, wake up, wake up, little Daisy, And hasten to grow. — Selected. SONGS OF SPRING. 65 THE DAISY. THERE is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky. It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charm, Lights pale October on his way, And twines December's arm. 'Tis Flora's page, in every place, In every season, fresh and fair ; It opens with perennial grace, And blossoms everywhere. On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise ; The Rose has but a summer reign : The Daisy never dies. — James Montgomery. 66 NATURE IN VERSE. DANDELION. HE is a roguish little elf, A gay audacious fellow, Who tramps about in doublet green And skirt of brightest yellow ; In ev'ry field, by ev'ry road, He peeps among the grasses, And shows his sunny little face To ev'ry one that passes. Within the churchyard he is seen, Beside the headstones peeping, And shining like a golden star O'er some still form there sleeping ; Beside the house door oft he springs In all his wanton straying, And children shout in laughing glee To find him in their playing. At eve he dons his nightgown green, And goes to bed right early, At morn, he spreads his yellow skirts To catch the dewdrops pearly ; A darling elf is Dandelion, A roguish wanton sweeting ; Yet he is loved by ev'ry child, All give him joyous greeting. — Kate L. Brown. ** SONGS OF SPRING. 67 DANDELION. THERE'S a dandy little fellow, Who dresses all in yellow, In yellow with an overcoat of green ; With his hair all crisp and curly, In the springtime bright and early A-tripping o'er the meadow he is seen. Through all the bright June weather, Like a jolly little tramp, He wanders o'er the hillside, down the road ; Around his yellow feather, The gypsy fireflies camp ; His companions are the wood lark and the toad. But at last this little fellow Doffs his dainty coat of yellow, And very feebly totters o'er the green ; For he very old is growing And with hair all white and flowing, A-nodding in the sunlight he is seen. Oh, poor dandy, once so spandy, Golden dancer on the lea ! Older growing, white hair flowing, Poor little baldhead dandy now is he ! — Nellie M. Garabrant. 68 NATURE IN VERSE. SEVEN TIMES ONE. THERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover, There's no rain left in heaven; I've said my " seven times " over and over, Seven times one are seven. I am old, so old, I can write a letter ; My birthday lessons are done ; The lambs play always, they know no better ; They are only one times one. moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low ; You were bright ! ah bright ! but your light is failing - You are nothing now but a bow. You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven That God has hidden your face ? 1 hope if you have you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place. O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow, You've powdered your legs with gold ! O brave marsh marybuds, rich and yellow, Give me your money to hold ! O columbine, open your folded wrapper Where two twin turtle-doves dwell ! O cuckoopint, toll me the purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell ! SONGS OF SPRING. 69 And show me your nest with the young ones in it ; I will not steal them away ; I am old ! you may trust me, linnet, linnet — I am seven times one to-day. — yean Inge low. THE LILAC. THE sun shone warm, and the lilac said, " I must hurry and get my table spread, For if I am slow, and dinner late, My friends, the bees, will have to wait." So delicate lavender glass she brought And the daintiest china ever bought, Purple tinted, and all complete ; And she filled each cup with honey sweet. " Dinner is ready ! " the spring wind cried ; And from hive and hiding far and wide, While the lilac laughed to see them come, The little gray-jacketed bees came hum-m ! They sipped the sirup from every cell, They nibbled at taffy and caramel ; Then, without being asked, they all buzzed, " We Will be very happy to stay to tea." — Clara Doty Bates. # 70 NATURE IN VERSE. THE CHICKEN'S MISTAKE. A LITTLE downy chicken one day Asked leave to go on the water, Where she saw a duck with her brood at play, Swimming and splashing about her. Indeed, she began to peep and cry, When her mother wouldn't let her : " If ducks can swim there, why can't I ; Are they any bigger or better ? " Then the old hen answered, " Listen to me, And hush your foolish talking ; Just look at your feet and you will see They were only made for walking." But chicky wistfully eyed the brook, And didn't half believe her, For she seemed to say by a knowing look, " Such stories couldn't deceive her." And as her mother was scratching the ground, She muttered lower and lower, " I know I can go there and not get drowned, And so I think I'll show her." Then she made a plunge where the stream was deep, And saw too late her blunder : For she hadn't hardly time to peep Till her foolish head went under. And now I hope her fate will show The child, my story reading, That those who are older sometimes know What you will do well in heeding. SONGS OF SPRING. 71 That each content in his place should dwell, And envy not his brother ; And any part that is acted well Is just as good as another. For we all have our proper sphere below, And this is a truth worth knowing : You will come to grief if you try to go Where you never were made for going. — Phcebe Cary. ROVER IN CHURCH. TWAS a Sunday morning in early May, A beautiful, sunny, quiet day, And all the village, old and young, Had trooped to church when the church bells rung ; The windows were open and breezes sweet Fluttered the hymn books from seat to seat ; Even the birds in the pale-leaved birch Sang as softly as if in church. Right in the midst of the minister's prayer There came a knock at the outer door. " Who's there, I wonder ! " the sexton thought As his careful ear the tapping caught. Rap — rap, rap — rap, — a louder sound — The boy on the back seat turned around. What could it mean ? for never before Had any tapped at the old church door. Again the tapping, and now 'tis loud ; The minister paused — tho' his head was bowed. 72 NATURE IN VERSE. Rap-pi-ty-rap ! This will never do, The girls are peeping and laughing too, So the sexton tripped over the creaking floor, Lifted the latch and opened the door ; * In there trotted, as big as a bear, A great black dog ; with a solemn air, Right up the center aisle he pattered — People might laugh, it little mattered. Straight he went to a little maid, Who blushed and hid as though afraid, And there sat down as if to say, — " I'm sorry I was late to-day. But better late than never, you know ; Beside I waited an hour or so, " And couldn't get them to open the door, Tho' I banged my tail, and knocked the floor. Now, little mistress, I'm going to stay And hear what the minister has to say." The poor little girl hid her face and cried, But the big dog nestled close to her side And kissed her, dog fashion, tenderly, Wondering what the matter could be ! The dog being large, and the sexton small, He sat through the sermon and heard it all, As solemn and wise as any one there, With a very dignified scholarly air, And, instead of scolding, the minister said, As he laid his hand on the sweet child's head After the service, " I never knew Two better listeners than Rover and you." — Selected. SONGS OF SPRING. 73 PLANTED HIMSELF TO GROW. DEAR, little, bright-eyed Willie, Always so full of glee, Always so very mischievous, The pride of our home is he. One bright summer day we found him Close by the garden wall, Standing so grave and dignified Beside a sunflower tall. His tiny feet he had covered With the moist and cooling sand ; The stalk of the great, tall sunflower He grasped with his chubby hand. When he saw us standing near him, Gazing so wonderingly At his babyship, he greeted us With a merry shout of glee. We asked our darling what pleased him ; He replied with a face aglow, " Mamma, I'm going to be a man ; I've planted myself to grow." ■ — Selected. :£4Kc BIRD TRADES. THE swallow is a mason, And underneath the eaves He builds a nest, and plasters it With mud and hay and leaves. 74 NATURE IN VERSE. Of all the weavers that I know, The oriole is the best ; High on the branches of the tree She hangs her cosy nest. The woodpecker is hard at work — A carpenter is he — And you may hear him hammering His nest high up a tree. Some little birds are miners : Some build upon the ground : And busy little tailors, too, Among the birds are found. — Selected. >X*c THE LITTLE DOVES. HIGH on the top of an old pine-tree Broods a mother-dove with her young ones three. Warm over them is her soft, downy breast, And they sing so sweetly in their nest. " Coo," say the little ones, " Coo," says she, All in their nest on the old pine-tree. Soundly they sleep through the moonshiny night, Each young one covered and tucked in tight ; Morn wakes them up with the first blush of light, And they sing to each other with all their might. "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she, All in their nest on the old pine-tree. When in the nest they are all left alone, While their mother far for their dinner has flown, SONGS OF SPRING. 75 Quiet and gentle they all remain, Till their mother they see come home again. Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she, All in their nest on the old pine-tree. When they are fed by their tender mother, One never pushes nor crowds another ; Each opens wide his own little bill, And he patiently waits, and gets his fill. Then " Coo," say the little ones, " Coo," says she, All in their nest on the old pine-tree. Wisely the mother begins by and by, To make her young ones learn to fly ; Just for a little way over the brink, Then back to the nest as quick as a wink. And " Coo," say the little ones, " Coo," says she, All in their nest on the old pine-tree. Fast grow the young ones, day and night, Till their wings are plumed for a longer flight ; Till unto them at last draws nigh The time when they all must say " Good-by." Then " Coo," say the little ones, " Coo," says she, And away they fly from the old pine-tree. — Selected. CHANGELINGS. ALONG the orchard's fragrant way I walked in flower-embroidered May ; The apple-trees were all alight With opening buds of rose and white. 76 NATURE IN VERSE. On the same path I pass again ; The faded grass is wet with rain ; The sweet young year is growing old ; My flowers are changed to globes of gold. p. Within the polished spheres there be Rare honey and rich spicerie ; From sun and wind and blossom bell The patient days have wrought the spell. — M. F. B. — Youth's Competition. otti RAGGED ROBIN. A MAN of taste is Robinet, A dandy, spruce and trim ! Whoe'er would dainty fashions set, Should go and look at him. Rob scorns to wear his crimson coat, As common people do, He folds and fits it in and out, And does it bravely, too. Oh ! Robin loves to prank him rare, With fringe, and flounce, and all ; Till you'd take him for a lady fair Just going to a ball. Robin's a roguish, merry lad, He dances in the breeze, And looks up, with a greeting glad, To the rustling hedge-row trees. SONGS OF SPRING. 77 How civilly he beckons in The busy Mrs. Bee ; And she tells her store of gossiping O'er his honey and his glee. All joy — all mirth — no carking care, No worldly woe has he ; Alack ! I wish my lot it were To live as happily ! — L. A. Twamley, THE SONG IN THE STORM. IT rains, but on a dripping bough A little bird sings clear and sweet, — I think he knows not why nor how, Except that with his slender feet He feels dear Nature's pulses beat. The wind, up-rising, stirs the tree, And fast with silver tears it weeps ; The little bird more cheerily Pipes with his tender throat, and keeps His faith in sunshine, tho' it sleeps ! There swings his pretty nest below ; His mate sits listening to his song ; 'Tis love that makes her bosom glow, 'Tis love that whispers all day long " Sleep, sleep, my nestlings, and grow strong ! Ah, dreary sky, and dripping tree, And wind that sobbest in the wood, Know well, if anywhere love be, 78 NATURE IN VERSE. She hath the sunshine in her hood; For everything to love is good. — James Buckham — Youth's Companion >*K< THE GROUND LAUREL. I LOVE thee, pretty nursling Of vernal sun and rain ; For thou art Flora's firstling, And leadest in her train. When far away I found thee, It was an April morn ; The chilling blast blew round thee, No bud had decked the thorn. And thou alone wast hiding The massy rocks between, Where, just below them gliding, The Merrimac was seen. And while my hand was brushing The seary leaves from thee, It seemed that thou wast blushing To be disclosed to me. Thou didst reward my ramble By shining at my feet, When, over brake and bramble, I sought thy lone retreat. — MissH. F. Gould. SONGS OF SPRING. 79 A BIRD'S NEST. OVER my shaded doorway, Two little brown-winged birds Have chosen to fashion their dwelling, And utter their loving words. All day they are going and coming On errands frequent and fleet, And warbling over and over — " Sweetest, sweet, sweet, O sweet ! " Their necks are changeful and shining, Their eyes are like living gems, And all day long they are busy, Gathering straws and stems, Lint and feathers and grasses ; And half forgetting to eat ; Yet never failing to warble, " Sweetest, sweet, sweet, O sweet ! " I scatter crumbs on the doorsteps, And fling them some flossy threads ; They fearlessly gather my bounty, And turn up their graceful heads, And chatter, and dance, and flutter, And scrape with their tiny feet, Telling me, over and over, " Sweetest, sweet, sweet, O sweet ! " What if the sky is clouded ? What if the rain comes down ? They are all dressed to meet it, In waterproof suits of brown. 80 NATURE IN VERSE. They never mope nor languish Nor murmur at storm or heat, But say, — whatever the weather, — " Sweetest, sweet, sweet, O sweet ! " — .fc- Always merry and busy, — Dear little brown-winged birds, Teach me the happy magic Hidden in these soft words, Which always, in shine or shadow, So lovingly you repeat Over, and over, and over, " Sweetest, sweet, sweet, O sweet ! " — Florence Percy. £<«< BROTHER ROBIN. LISTEN ! in the April rain, Brother Robin's here again : Songs like showers come and go ; He is house-building, I know. Though he finds the old pine-tree Is not where it used to be, And the nest he made last year, Torn and scattered far and near, — He has neither grief nor care Building sites are everywhere SONGS OF SPRING. 81 If one nest is blown away, Fields are full of sticks and hay. Though old mousing puss last year, Ate his little ones, I fear, And he almost died of fright, That is all forgotten quite. — Mrs. Anderson. >?Ki THE CHIMNEY NEST. A DAINTY, delicate swallow-feather Is all that we now in the chimney trace Of something that, days and days together, With twittering bird-notes filled the place. Where are you flying now, swallow, swallow ? Where are you waking the spaces blue ? How many little ones follow, follow, Whose wings to strength in the chimney grew ? Deep and narrow, and dark and lonely, The sooty place that you nested in ; Over you one blue glimmer only, — Say, were there many to make the din ? This is certain, that, somewhere or other, Up in the chimney is loosely hung A queer-shaped nest where a patient mother Brooded a brood of tender young. 82 NATURE IN VERSE. That here, as in many deserted places, Brimming with life for hours and hours, We miss with the hum a thousand graces, Valued the more since no more ours. V. Ah ! why do we shut our eyes half blindly, And close our hearts to some wee things near, Till He who granted them kindly, kindly Gathers them back, that we see and hear, And know, by the loss of the same grown dearer, Naught is so small of his works and ways, But, holding it tenderly when 'twas nearer, Had added a joy to our vanished days ? So, little, delicate swallow-feather, Fashioned with care by the Master's hand, I'll hold you close for your message, whether Or not the whole I may understand. — Mary Barker Dodge. ^< THE ROBIN. IN the tall elm-tree sat the Robin bright, Through the rainy April day, And he caroled clear with a pure delight, In the face of the sky so gray. And the silver rain through the blossoms dropped, And fell on the robin's coat, And his brave red breast, but he never stopped Piping his cheerful note. SONGS OF SPRING. 83 For oh, the fields were green and glad, And the blissful life that stirred In the earth's wide breast, was full and warm In the heart of the little bird. The rain-cloud lifted, the sunset light Streamed wide over valley and hill ; As the plains of heaven the land grew bright, And the warm south wind was still. Then loud and clear called the happy bird, And rapturously he sang, Till wood and meadow and river side With jubilant echoes rang. But the sun dropped down in the quiet west, And he hushed his song at last ; All nature softly sank to rest, And the April day had passed. — Celia Thaxter. :>*«< DON'T KILL THE BIRDS. DON'T kill the birds, the pretty birds, That sing about your door, Soon as the joyous spring has come, And chilling storms are o'er. The little birds, how sweet they sing ! Oh ! let them joyous live ; And never seek to take the life That you can never give. 84 NATURE IN VERSE. Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds, That play among the trees ; 'Twould make the earth a cheerless place, Should we dispense with these. The little birds, how fond they play ! Do not disturb their sport ; But let them warble forth their songs, Till winter cuts them short. Don't kill the birds, the happy birds, That bless the fields and grove ; So innocent to look upon, They claim our warmest love. The happy birds, the tuneful birds, How pleasant 'tis to see ! No spot can be a cheerless place Where'er their presence be. — Colesworthy . :£*« ANXIETY. A LITTLE bird sat on the edge of her nest; Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as tops; That day she had done her very best, And had filled every one of their little crops ; She had filled her own just over-full, And hence was feeling a little dull. "Oh, dear!" she sighed, as she sat with her head Sunk in her chest, and no neck at all, SONGS OF SPRING. 85 While her crop stuck out like a feather bed Turned inside out, and rather small, — " What shall I do if things don't reform ? I don't know where there's a single worm. " I've had twenty to-day, and the children five each, Besides a few flies, and some very fat spiders, No one will say I don't do as I preach : I'm one of the best of bird providers. But where's the use ? — we want a storm ; I don't know where there's a single worm." "There's five in my crop," said a wee, wee bird, That woke at the sound of his mother's pain, " I know where there's five." And with that word He tucked in his head, and was off again. "The folly of childhood," sighed his mother, " Has always been my especial bother." The yellow-beaks they slept on and on, They never had heard of the dread to-morrow ; But the mother sat outside making her moan She'll soon have to beg, or steal, or borrow, For she never can tell the night before Where she shall find one red worm more. The fact, as I say, was, she'd had too many ; She couldn't sleep, and she called it virtue, Motherly foresight, affection, any Name you may call it that will not hurt you ; So it was late when she tucked her head in. And she slept so late it was almost a sin. But the little fellow who knew of five, Nor troubled his head about any more, 86 NATURE IN VERSE. Woke very early, felt quite alive, And wanted a sixth to add to his store, He pushed his mother, the greedy elf, Then thought he had better try for himself. When his mother awoke and rubbed her eyes, Feeling less like a bird, and more like a mole, She saw him, — fancy with what a surprise — Dragging a huge worm out of a hole ! 'Twas of this same hero the proverb took form, "Tis the early bird that catches the worm." — George Macdonald >>*< ROBERT OF LINCOLN. MERRILY swinging on brier and weed, Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name ; " Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee." Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, Wearing a bright black wedding coat ; White are his shoulders, and white his crest ; Hear him call in his merry note : " Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; SONGS OF SPUING. S7 Look, what a nice new coat is mine, Sure there was never a bird so fine. Chee, chee, chee." Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass, while her husband sings, " Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear Thieves and robbers, while I am here. Chee, chee, chee." Modest and shy as a nun is she, One weak chirp is her only note, Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat, " Bob-o'-link, bob-o'link, Spink, spank, spink ; Never was I afraid of man, Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can ! Chee, chee, chee." Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight ! There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might : " Bob-o'-link, bob-o'link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house, while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee." 88 NATURE IN VERSE. Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Six wide mouths are open for food, Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood ; " Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow, like me. Chee, chee, chee." Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work and silent with care ; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air ; " Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nobody knows, but my mate and I, Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee." Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; Fun and frolic no more he knows, Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone ; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes, " Bob-o'-link, bob-o'link, Spink, spank, spink; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee." — William Cidlen Bryan . * SONGS OF SPRING. MARJORIE'S ALMANAC. ROBINS in the tree-top, Blossoms in the grass, Green things a-growing Everywhere you pass ; Sudden little breezes, Showers of silver dew, Black bough and bent twig Budding out anew ; Pine-tree and willow-tree, Fringed elm, and larch, — Don't you think that May-time's Pleasanter than March ? Apples in the orchard Mellowing one by one ; Strawberries upturning Soft cheeks to the sun ; Roses faint with sweetness, Lilies fair of face, Drowsy scents and murmurs Haunting every place ; Lengths of golden sunshine, Moonlight bright as day, — Don't you think that summer's Pleasanter than May ? Roger in the corn-patch Whistling negro songs ; Pussy by the hearth-side Romping with the tongs ; 90 NATURE IN VERSE. Chestnuts in the ashes Bursting through the rind ; Red leaf and gold leaf Rustling down the wind ; Mother " doin' peaches " All the afternoon, — Don't you think that autumn's Pleasanter than June ? Little fairy snow-flakes Dancing in the flue ; Old Mr. Santa Claus, What is keeping you ? Twilight and firelight Shadows come and go ; Merry chime of sleigh-bells Tinkling through the snow ; Mother knitting stockings (Pussy's got the ball), — Don't you think that winter's Pleasanter than all ? — Thomas Bailey Aldrich. -ooXK< THE MONKEY. MONKEY, little merry fellow, Thou art Nature's Punchinello ! Full of fun as Puck could be, Harlequin might learn of thee ! Look now at his odd grimaces ! Saw you ever such queer faces ? SONGS OF SPRING. 91 Now like learned judge sedate, Now with nonsense in his pate. Look now at him ! gently peep ! He pretends to be asleep, — Fast asleep upon his bed, With his arm beneath his head. Now that posture is not right, And he is not settled quite ; There ! that's better than before, And the knave pretends to snore. Ha ! he is not half asleep ; See, he slyly takes a peep ! Monkey, though your eyes were shut, You could see this little nut. You shall have it, pigmy brother ! What ! another ? and another ? Nay, your cheeks are like a sack ; Sit down, and begin to crack. There ! the little ancient man Cracks as fast as crack he can ; Now good-by, you merry fellow, Nature's primest Punchinello. — Mary Howitt. 92 NA TURE IN VERSE. THE PIGEON HOUSE. LOOK ! here's a pretty pigeon house ! In*every narrow cell A pigeon with his little wife And family may dwell. Their beds are only made of straw, The rooms are dark and small ; But many though the pigeons be, There's room enough for all. Because they don't dispute and fret For every little thing, But live in love and gentleness, At home and on the wing. How soft and low their cooing sounds, As each one says " Good-night ! " How cheerful when at early morn They dress their feathers white. Then far into the woods and fields, To seek their food they fly, Returning to their house betimes, When sunset gilds the sky. — Blades and Flowers, NOW THE SUN IS SINKING. NOW the sun is sinking In the golden west ; Birds and bees and children All have gone to rest ; SONGS OF SPRING. 93 And the merry streamlet, As it runs along, With a voice of sweetness Sings its evening song. Cowslip, daisy, violet, In their little beds, All among the grasses Hide their heavy heads ; Then they'll all, sweet darlings, Lie in happy dreams, Till the rosy morning Wakes them with its beams. — Selected. O^C LULLABY. THROUGH Sleepy-land doth a river flow ; On its further bank white daisies grow ; And snow-white sheep, in woolly floss, Must, one by one, be ferried across. In a little boat they safely ride To the meadows green, on the other side. Lullaby, sing lullaby ! The boatman comes to carry the sheep In his little boat to the land of sleep ; Upon his head is a poppy wreath ; His eyelids droop, and his eyes beneath Are drowsy from counting, " One, two, three," • How many sheep does the baby see? Lullaby, sing lullaby ! 94 NATURE IN VERSE. One little sheep has gone over the stream, They press to the bank. How eager they seem ! Two little sheep, alone on the shore, — Only two sheep, but he's bringing one more ; Three little sheep, in the flowery fields, Cropping the grass which Sleepy-land yields. Lullaby, sing lullaby ! Four little, five little sheep now are over ; Six little, seven little sheep in the clover, — Deep in the honey-sweet clover they stand. Eight little, nine little sheep, now they land ; Ten, and eleven, and twelve little sheep ! — And baby, herself, is gone with them to sleep ! — Lullaby, sing lullaby ! — E. Cavazza — St. Nicholas- 3 >®4c TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR. TWINKLE, twinkle, little star; How I wonder what you are ! Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. When the blazing sun is gone, When he nothing shines upon, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. In the dark blue sky you keep, And often through my curtains peep ; For you never shut your eye Till the sun is in the sky. SONGS OF SPRING. 95 And your bright and tiny spark Lights the traveler in the dark. Though I know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle, little star. — Jane Taylor 3^< THE STARS ARE COMING. SEE, the stars are coming In the fair blue sky ; Mother, look, they brighten : Are they angels' eyes ? No, my child, the lustre Of the stars is given, Like the hues of flowers, By the God of heaven. Mother, if I study, Sure he'll make me know Why the stars he kindled, O'er our earth to glow. Child, what God created Has a glorious aim ; Thine it is to worship, Thine to love his name. 96 NATURE IN VERSE. GOD'S FATHER-CARE. THERE is no birdling in the nest the breeze rocks in the tree, All featherless and fluttering, with eyes that cannot see, But brooding mother-wings are there to keep it snug and warm, And shelter it most lovingly from sunshine and from storm. To every flitting butterfly the flower-cups open wide ; Beneath the green leaf's canopy the meanest worm may hide ; Each tiny insect finds or builds some little house or cell, And in and out goes happily, contented there to dwell. Now who has thought of all these things ? Who planned and made them all ? The One who counts the shining stars, and suffers none to fall ; His tender Father-love is stretched o'er everything we see, And faileth never, night or day, to Care for you and me. — After the German of Hey — C. M. Harris. SONGS OF SUMMER. "Where the mowers mow the cleanest, Where the hay lies thick and greenest. IS^^^-^f^ lysii "^\ Tl/>— _-v^ ill w r 5:: iHg) ^^ft&^O^^S Songs of Summer* PSALM XXIII. " The Lord is my shepherd." 'HE Lord is my shepherd ; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul ; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil ; for thou art with me ; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies ; thou anointest my head with oil ; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life : and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. — Holy Bible. THE WORKS OF GOD. GOD made the sky that looks so blue ; He made the grass so green ; He made the flowers that smell so sweet, In pretty color seen. 99 100 NATURE IN VERSE. God made the sun that shines so bright, And gladdens all I see ; It comes to give us heat and light ; How thankful should we be. God made the pretty bird to fly ; How sweetly has she sung; And though she flies so very high, She won't forget her young. God made the cow to give nice milk, The horse for me to use ; I'll treat them kindly for His sake, Nor dare His gifts abuse. God made the water for my drink ; He made the fish to swim ; He made the tree to bear nice fruit ; Oh, how should I love Him. >^c — Taylor. THE USE OF FLOWERS. GOD might have bade the earth bring forth Enough for great and small, The oak tree, and the cedar tree, Without a flower at all. He might have made enough, enough, For every want of ours ; For luxury, medicine, and toil, And yet have made no flowers. SONGS OF SUMMER. 101 The ore within the mountain mine Requireth none to grow, Nor doth it need the lotus flower To make the river flow. The clouds might give abundant rain, The nightly dews might fall, And the herb that keepeth life in man Might yet have drunk them all. Then wherefore, wherefore were they made All dyed with rainbow light, All fashion'd with supremest grace, Upspringing day and night — Springing in valleys green and low, And on the mountains high, And in the silent wilderness, Where no man passeth by ? Our outward life requires them not, Then wherefore had they birth ? To minister delight to man, To beautify the earth ; To whisper hope — to comfort man Whene'er his faith is dim ; For whoso careth for the flowers Will care much more for Him ! — Mary Howitt. 102 NATURE IN VERSE. WE THANK THEE. FOR flowers that bloom about our feet; For tender grass, so fresh, so sweet ; For song of bird and hum of bee ; For all things fair we hear or see, — Father in heaven, we thank thee ! For blue of stream and blue of sky ; For pleasant shade of branches high ; For fragrant air and cooling breeze ; For beauty of the blooming trees, — Father in heaven, we thank thee ! For mother-love and father-care, For brothers strong and sisters fair ; For love at home and school each day ; For guidance, lest we go astray, — Father in heaven, we thank thee ! For thy dear, everlasting arms, That bear us o'er all ills and harms ; For blessed words of long ago, That help us now thy will to know, — Father in heaven, we thank thee ! — Selected. >*K< A SONG OF SUMMER. CUCKOO sat on a tree and sang, " Summer is coming, coming ; " A And a bee crept out of the hive and began Lazily humming, humming. SONGS OF SUMMER. 103 The frogs, from out the rushes and reeds, Into the water went splashing ; And the dragon-fly, with his body of green, Through the flags went flashing, flashing. The dormouse put out her head and said, " Really the sun shines brighter ; " But the butterfly answered, " Not yet, not yet," And folded his wings up tighter. But the thrush and the blackbird began to sing Ever sweeter and sweeter, And the grasshopper chirped, and hopped and skipped Ever fleeter and fleeter. The gnats and the chafers began to buzz ; And the swallows began to chatter ; " We have come from abroad with the summer at last. How lazy you are ! What's the matter ? " Then the dormouse said, " Summer's really here, Since the swallows are homeward coming ; " And the butterfly spread out his wings, and the bee Went louder and louder humming. And suddenly brighter the sun shone out, And the clouds away went sailing, And the sheep nibbled peacefully at the grass, And the cow looked over the paling. Yes, summer had come, and the cuckoo sang His song through woodland and hollow ; " The summer is come ; if you don't believe me, You have only to ask the swallow." — Selected. 104 NATURE IN VERSE. MERRY SUNSHINE. GOOD-MORNING, Merry Sunshine, How did you wake so soon ? You've scared the little stars away And shined away the moon. I saw you go to sleep last night Before I ceased my playing, How did you get way over there ? And where have you been staying ? I never go to sleep, dear child, I just go round to see My little children of the east, Who rise and watch for me. I waken all the birds and bees And flowers on my way, And now come back to see the child Who stayed out late at play. Selected. 3^< SUMMER TIME. I LOVE the cheerful summer time, With all its birds and flowers, Its shining garments green and smooth, Its cool, refreshing showers. I love to hear the little birds That carol on the trees ; I love the gentle murmuring stream ; I love the evening breeze. SONGS OF SUMMER. 105 I love the bright and glorious sun That gives us light and heat ; I love the pearly drops of dew That sparkle 'neath my feet. I love to hear the busy hum ' Of honey-making bee, And learn a lesson, hard to learn, Of patient industry. I love to see the playful lambs, So innocent and gay ; I love the faithful, watchful dog Who guards them night and day. I love to think of Him who made These pleasant things for me ; Who gave me life and health and strength, And eyes that I might see. I love the holy Sabbath-day, So peaceful, calm, and still ; And oh, I love to go to church, To learn my Maker's will. Selected. 3*X< THE SUNBEAM. A LITTLE sunbeam in the sky Said to itself one day : " I'm very small, but why should I Do nothing else but play ? I'll go down to the earth and see If there is any use for me." 106 NATURE IN VERSE. The violet beds were wet with dew, Which filled each heavy cup ; The little sunbeam darted through, And raised their blue heads up ; They smiled to see it, and they lent The morning's breeze their sweetest scent A mother, 'neath a shady tree, Had left her babe asleep ; It woke and cried, but when it spied The little sunbeam peep So slyly in, with glance so bright, It laughed and chuckled with delight. On, on it went, it might not stay : Now through a window small It poured its glad but tiny ray, And danced upon the wall. A pale young face looked up to meet The sunbeam she had watched to greet And now away beyond the sea The merry sunbeam went ; A ship was on the waters free, From home and country sent, But, sparkling in the sunbeam's play, The blue waves curled around her way. A voyager stood and watched them there, With heart of bitter pain ; She gazed, and half forgot her care, And hope came back again. She said, " The waves are full of glee, Then yet there may be joy for me ! " SONGS OF SUMMER. 107 And so it traveled to and fro, And frisked and danced about ; And not a door was shut, I know, To keep the sunbeam out. But ever, as it touched the earth, It woke up happiness and mirth. I may not tell the history Of all that it could do, But I tell you this, that you may try To be a sunbeam too ; By little smiles to soothe and cheer, And make your presence ever dear. — Selected. 3 >©XKc A SUMMER DAY. THIS is the way the morning dawns: Rosy tints on flowers and trees, Winds that wake the birds and bees, Dew-drops on the flowers and lawns — This is the way the morning dawns. This is the way the sun comes up : Gold on brooks and grass and leaves, Mist that melts above the sheaves. Vine and rose and buttercup — This is the way the sun comes up. This is the way the rain comes down : Tinkle, tinkle, drop by drop, Over roof and chimney-top ; Boughs that bend, and clouds that frown This is the way the rain comes down. This is the way the river flows : Here a whirl, and there a dance, Slowly now, then, like a lance, Swiftly to the sea it goes — This is the way the river flows. SONGS OF SUMMER. 113 This is the way the daylight dies : Cows are lowing in the lane, Fireflies wink o'er hill and plain ; Yellow, red, and purple skies — This is the way the daylight dies. — Selected. >XKc MUSIC OF NATURE. HAVE you heard the waters singing, Little May, Where the willows green are leaning O'er their way ? Do you know how low and sweet, O'er the pebbles at their feet, Are the words the waves repeat, Night and day ? Have you heard the robins singing, Little one, Where the rosy day is breaking — When 'tis done ? Have you heard the wooing breeze, In the blossomed orchard trees, And the drowsy hum of bees In the sun ? All the earth is full of music, Little May; Bird and bee and water singing On its way. i 114 NATURE IN VERSE. Let their silver voices fall On thy heart with happy call : " Praise the Lord who loveth all, Night and day." te — Selected. UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. UNDER the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat ? Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall we see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun, And loves to live in the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleased with what he gets ? Come hither, come hither, come hither ; Here shall we see No enemy But winter and rough weather. — William Shakespeare SONGS OF SUMMER. 115 SUMMER WOODS. COME ye unto the summer woods There entereth no annoy ; All greenly wave the chestnut leaves, And the earth is full of joy. There come the little gentle birds, Without a fear of ill, Down to the murmuring water's edge, And freely drink their fill ; And dash about and splash about, The merry little things, And look askance with bright black eyes, And flirt their dripping wings. There's enough for every one, And they lovingly agree ; We might learn a lesson all of us, Beneath the greenwood tree. — Mary Howitt. &K< IN THE MEADOW. THE meadow is a battle-field Where summer's army comes ; Each soldier with a clover shield, The honey-bees with drums. Boom, rat-ta ! they march, and pass The captain tree who stands Saluting with a sword of grass And giving them commands. 116 NATURE IN VERSE. 'Tis only when the breezes blow Across the woody hills, They shoulder arms, and, to and fro, March in their full-dress drills. Boom, rat-ta ! they wheel in line And wave their gleaming spears ; " Charge ! " cries the captain, giving sign, And every soldier cheers. But when the day is growing dim, They gather in their camps And sing a good thanksgiving hymn Around the firefly lamps. Rat-tat-ta ! the bugle-notes Call " good-night " to the sky ; I hope they all have overcoats To keep them warm and dry. Selected. >XKc THE RIVER. OTELL me, pretty river ! Whence do thy waters flow ? And whither art thou roaming, So pensive and so slow ? " My birthplace was the mountain, My nurse, the April showers ; My cradle was a fountain, O'ercurtained by wild flowers. SOJVGS OF SUMMED. 117 " One morn I ran away, A madcap, hoyden rill — And many a prank that day I play'd adown the hill ! " And then, mid meadowy banks, I flirted with the flowers That stoop'd with glowing lips To woo me to their bowers. " But these bright scenes are o'er, And darkly flows my wave — I hear the ocean's roar, And there must be my grave ! " — Samuel G. Goodrich. &XS THE CLOUDS. HIGH above us, slowly sailing Little clouds so soft and white, You are like the wings of angels, Watching o'er us day and night. When the summer sun is shining And the sky is blue above, Then you look at us and send us Radiant smiles of joy and love. In the morning very early From his soft and lowly nest Soars the lark with joyous carol Till he nestles in your breast. :18 NATURE IN VERSE. Tender messages he carries From the flowers that watch and sigh As they gaze upon you sailing, Slowly sailing through the sky. Selected. K >>«<< THE DEW. MAMMA," said little Isabel, " While I am fast asleep The pretty grass and lovely flowers Do nothing else but weep. " For every morning, when I wake, The glistening tear-drops lie Upon each tiny blade of grass, And in each flower's eye. " I wonder why the grass and flowers At night become so sad, — For early through their tears they smile And seem all day so glad. " Perhaps 'tis when the sun goes down They fear the gathering shade, And that is why they cry at night — Because they are afraid. " Mamma, if I should go and tell The pretty grass and flowers About God's watchful love and care Through the dark midnight hours, — SONGS OF SUMMER. 119 " I think they would no longer fear, But cease at night to weep ; And then, perhaps they'd bow their heads, And gently go to sleep." "What seemeth tears," the mother said, " Is the refreshing dew Our Heavenly Father sendeth down, Each morn and evening new. " The glittering drops of pearly dew Are to the grass and flowers What slumber through the silent night Is to this life of ours. " Thus God remembers all the works That he in love hath made ; O'er all, his watchfulness and care Are night and day displayed." — Selected. ?>m RAIN IN SUMMER. O GENTLE, gentle summer rain, Let not the silver lily pine, The drooping lily pine in vain To feel that dewy touch of thine, — To drink thy freshness once again, O gentle, gentle summer rain ! In heat the landscape quivering lies ; The cattle pant beneath the tree ; 120 NATURE IN VERSE. Through parching air and purple skies The earth looks up, in vain, for thee ; For thee, — for thee, it looks in vain, O gentle, gentle summer rain ! v.- Come, then, and brim the meadow streams, And soften all the hills with mist, O falling dew ! from burning dreams By thee shall herb and flower be kissed, And Earth shall bless thee yet again, O gentle, gentle summer rain ! — W. C. Bennett. SUMMER SHOWER. A DROP fell on the apple-tree, Another on the roof ; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook, That went to help the sea ; Myself conjectured, were they pearls, What necklaces could be ! The dust replaced in hoisted roads, The birds jocoser sung ; The sunshine threw his hat away ; The orchards spangles hung. The breezes brought dejected lutes, And bathed them in the glee ; The East put out a single flag, And signed the fete away. — E?nily Dickinson. SONGS OF SUMMER. 121 A SONG OF CLOVER. I WONDER what the Clover thinks Intimate friend of Bob-o'-links, Lover of Daisies slim and white, Waltzer with Buttercups at night ; Keeper of Inn for traveling Bees, Serving to them wine dregs and lees, Left by the Royal Humming Birds, Who sip and pay with fine-spun words ; Fellow with all the lowliest, Peer of the gayest and the best ; Comrade of winds, beloved of sun, Kissed by the Dew-drops, one by one ; Prophet of Good-Luck mystery By sign of four which few may see ; Symbol of Nature's magic zone, One out of three, and three in one ; Emblem of comfort in the speech Which poor men's babies early reach ; Sweet by the roadsides, sweet by rills, Sweet in the meadows, sweet on hills, Sweet in its white, sweet in its red, — Oh, half its sweetness cannot be said ; — Sweet in its every living breath, Sweetest, perhaps, at last, in death ! Oh ! who knows what the Clover thinks ? No one ! unless the Bob-o'-links ! — Saxe Holm. 222 NATURE IN VERSE. PEBBLES. OUT of a pellucid brook Pebbles round and smooth I took; Like a jewel, every one Caught a color from the sun, — Ruby red and sapphire blue, Emerald and onyx too, Diamond and amethyst, — Not a precious stone I missed ; Gems I held from every land In the hollow of my hand. Workman Water these had made ; Patiently through sun and shade, With the ripples of the rill He had polished them until, Smooth, symmetrical and bright, Each one sparkling in the light Showed within its burning heart All the lapidary's art ; And the brook seemed thus to sing : Patience conquers everything ! — Frank De?npster Sherman. :>*»« WHAT THE BURDOCK WAS GOOD FOR. " /""*OOD for nothing," the farmer said, ^-2 As he made a sweep at the burdock's head ; But then, it was best, no doubt, To come some day and root her out. SONGS OF SUMMER. 123 So he lowered his scythe, and went his way, To see his corn, or gather his hay ; And the weed grew safe and strong and tall, Close by the side of the garden wall. " Good for home," cried the little toad, As he hopped up out of the dusty road. He had just been having a dreadful fright, — The boy who gave it was yet in sight. Here it was cool, and dark, and green, The safest kind of a leafy screen. The toad was happy : " For," said he, " The burdock was plainly meant for me." "Good for a prop," the spider thought, And to and fro with care he wrought, Till he fastened it well to an evergreen And span his cables fine between. 'Twas a beautiful bridge, — a triumph of skill, The flies came 'round as idlers will ; The spider lurked in his corner dim ; The more that came the better for him. " Good for play," said a child, perplext To know what frolic was coming next ; So she gathered the burrs that all despised, And her city playmates were quite surprised To see what a beautiful basket or chair Could be made, with a little time and care. They ranged their treasures about with pride, And played all day by the burdock's side. Nothing is lost in this world of ours ; Honey comes from the idle flowers ; 124 NATURE IN VERSE. The weed which we pass in utter scorn, May save a life by another morn ; Wonders await us at every turn. We must be silent and gladly learn, No room for recklessness or abuse, Since even a burdock has its use. — Selected. LILY'S BALL. LILY gave a party, And her little playmates all, Gayly dressed came in their best, To dance at Lily's ball. Little Quaker Primrose Sat and never stirred, And, except in whispers, Never spoke a word. Snowdrop nearly fainted Because the room was hot, And went away before the rest With sweet Forget-me-not. Pansy danced with Daffodil, Rose with Violet ; Silly Daisy fell in love With pretty Mignonette. But, when they danced the country-dance, One could scarcely tell Which of these two danced it best — Cowslip or Heatherbell. SONGS OF SUMMER. 125 Between the dances, when they all Were seated in their places, I thought I'd never seen before So many pretty faces. But, of all the pretty maidens I saw at Lily's ball, Darling Lily was to me The sweetest of them all. And when the dance was over, They went downstairs to sup ; Each had a taste of honey-cake, With dew in a buttercup. And all were dressed to go away Before the set of sun ; And Lily said " Good-bye," and gave A kiss to every one. Before the moon or a single star Was shining overhead, Lily and all her little friends Were fast asleep in bed. — Fun and Earnest. )>Xc PANSY SONG. OPEN your eyes, my pansies sweet, Open your eyes, open to me, Where did you get your purple hue ? Did a cloud smile as you came through ? 126 NATURE IN VERSE. Open your eyes, my pansies sweet, Open your eyes, open to me, Did a little sunbeam bold Kiss on your lips that tint of gold ? V: Open your eyes, my pansies sweet, Open your eyes, open to me, Driving away with face so true, The chilly winds and wintry hue. Whisper to me, oh pansies sweet, Tell me, oh, tell me, in rustling low, Then as I bend with listening ear Your cheerful voice I plainly hear. UXS Selected. THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. I HAD found out a sweet green spot, Where a lily was blooming fair ; The din of the city disturbed it not, But the spirit that shades the quiet cot With its wings of love was there. I found that lily's bloom, When the day was dark and chill ; It smiled like a star in a misty gloom, And it sent abroad a soft perfume, Which is floating around me still. I sat by the lily's bell, And watched it many a day; SONGS OF SUMMER. 127 The leaves, that rose in a flowing swell, Grew faint and dim, then drooped and fell, And the flower had flown away. Percival. 3^JC A CHILD TO A ROSE. WHITE Rose, talk to me! I don't know what to do. Why do you say no word to me Who say so much to you ? I'm bringing you a little rain, And I shall feel so proud If, when you feel it on your face, You take me for a cloud. Here I come so softly You cannot hear me walking ; If I take you by surprise I may catch you talking. White Rose, are you tired Of staying in one place ? Do you ever wish to see The wild flowers, face to face ? Do you know the woodbines, And the big brown-crested reeds ? Do you wonder how they live So friendly with the weeds ? Have you any work to do When you've finished growing? Shall you teach your little buds Pretty ways of blowing ? — Poems for a Child. 128 NATURE IN VERSE. FORGET-ME-NOT. WHEN to the flowers — so beautiful The Father gave a name, Back came a little blue-eyed one (All timidly it came) And standing at its Father's feet, And gazing in his face — It said in low and trembling tones, With sweet and gentle grace, " Dear God, the name thou gavest me Alas! I have forgot." Then kindly looked the Father down, And said, " Forget-me-not." — Selected. >X*c DISCONTENT. DOWN in a field, one day in June, The flowers all bloomed together, Save one, who tried to hide herself, And drooped — that pleasant weather. A robin, who had flown too high ^And felt a little lazy, Was resting near the buttercup, Who wished she were a daisy. For daisies grow so trim and tall ; She always had a passion For wearing frills around her neck, In just the daisies' fashion. SONGS OF SUMMER. 129 And buttercups must always be The same old, tiresome color, While daisies dress in gold and white, Although their gold is duller. " Dear robin," said this sad young flower, " Perhaps you'd not mind trying To find a nice white frill for me Some day, when you are flying." "You silly thing," the robin said, " I think you must be crazy ; I'd rather be my honest self Than any made-up daisy. " You're nicer in your own bright gown ; The little children love you ; Be the best buttercup you can, And think no flower above you. " Though swallows leave me out of sight, We'd better keep our places. Perhaps the world would all go wrong, With one too many daisies. " Look bravely up into the sky, And be content with knowing That God wished for a buttercup Just here, where you are growing." — Susan Coolidge. 130 NATURE IN VERSE. GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN. COME into great-grandmother's garden, my dears, The Sunflowers are nodding and beckoning away, The Balsams are smilingly drying their tears, And fair Morning-glories are greeting the day. How pure is the breath of the old-fashioned Pinks ! How modest the face of the Lady's Delight ! Sweet William his arm with Miss Lavender's links, And whispers, " I dream of you morn, noon, and night." The Dahlia looks on with a queenly repose, Unheeding the Coxcomb's impertinent sighs, And fierce Tiger-lily an angry look throws At Bachelor's Button, who praises her eyes. The red Prince's Feather waves heavy and slow By Marigolds rich as the crown of a king ; The Larkspur the humming-bird sways to and fro ; Above them the Hollyhocks lazily swing. Come, Four-o-clocks, wake from your long morning nap ! The late China Asters will soon be astir ; The Sweet Pea has ordered a simple green cap — Which the Poppy considers too common for her. There's Southernwood, Saffron, and long Striped Grass ; The pale Thimbleberries, the Sweet-brier brush ; An odor of Catnip floats by as we pass — Be careful ! nor grandmamma's Chamomile crush. Come into great-grandmother's garden, my dears ; The Sunflowers are nodding and beckoning away — The real grandma's garden is gone years and years, — We have only a make-believe garden to-day. — M. y. Jacques— St. Nicholas \ SONGS OF SUMMER. 131 THE POPPY. HIGH on a bright and sunny bed A scarlet poppy grew ; And up it held its staring head, And thrust it full in view. Yet no attention did it win By all these efforts made, And less unwelcome had it been In some retired shade. For though within its scarlet breast No sweet perfume was found, It seemed to think itself the best Of all the flowers around. From this I may a hint obtain, And take great care indeed, Lest I appear as pert and vain As is this gaudy weed. Jane Taylor. £*K< WHO WAS SHE? I WAS going down the walk, So pleasant, cool, and shady; Right in the middle of the path I met a little lady. r56 NATURE IN VERSE. I made to her my sweetest bow ; She only walked on faster. I smiled, and said " Good-morning, ma'am ! " The moment that I passed her. V. She never noticed me at all ; I really felt quite slighted. I thought, " I'll follow you, I will, Altho' I'm not invited." Perhaps you think me very rude ; But then, she looked so funny — - From head to foot all dressed in fur, This summer day so sunny. She didn't mind the heat at all, But wrapped the fur around her, And hurried on, as if to say, " I'll 'tend to my own gown, sir ! " I followed her the whole way home ; Her home was in my garden, Beneath my choicest vines — and yet, She never asked my pardon. I never heard her speak a word ; But once I heard the miller, Coming down the sidewalk, say, "There goes Miss Caterpillar! " Selected. SONGS OF SUMMER. 137 THE BUTTERFLY. OUT in the garden wee Elsie Was gathering flowers for me ; " O mamma ! " she cried, " hurry, hurry ! Here's something I want you to see." I went to the window ; before her A velvet-winged butterfly flew, And the pansies themselves were not brighter Than the beautiful creature in hue. " Oh ! isn't it pretty ! " cried Elsie, With eager and wondering eyes, As she watched it soar lazily upward Against the soft blue of the skies. " I know what it is, don't you, mamma ? " — Oh ! the burden of these little things When the soul of a poet is in them — "It's a pansy — a pansy with wings." — Selected. THE BUTTERFLY'S LESSON. THE lilies were swinging their fair, white bells, In the languid heat of the noon, When Golden-wing stopped for a sip of dew, One beautiful day in June. Around lay the gardens, as fair as a rose, With blossoms of brightest dyes ; Above in the tree-tops so tall and green, Was the home of the birds near the skies. 138 NATURE IN VERSE. And Golden-wing thought if he only might live On that wind-blown, swaying bough, He would give up his lilies and honey and dew, And be happier, far, than now. v.- So he fluttered his dainty, golden wings And sprang on a passing breeze, And floated up with a swelling heart, To the home of the birds in the trees. The journey was long, he grew weary and faint, The most of his strength was spent ; But still he pressed up to the nest in the trees, Urged on by his discontent. He reached it at last, the pretty, cool nest, Where the young birds were learning to sing ; But he was not there long, for a greedy young bird Caught sight of poor Golden-wing. The birds all came rushing in hot pursuit, And Golden-wing, faint with fear, Wished in his trembling, foolish heart, That the garden were only near. And at length, when he reached it, the garden fair, And hid in his lily home, He vowed to be more contented henceforth, And never again to roam. And he learned the lesson we all must heed, Whether or not we please, That those who are made for the lily bells, Can never find homes in the trees. — Selected. SONGS OF SUMMER. 139 THE GRASSHOPPER. A GRASSHOPPER sat in an oak tree green. Mending the shoes of the fairy queen, For he was a cobbler of all the fays, Yellows and purples and greens and grays ; A happy old fellow and merry was he As he sat on the limb of the old oak tree ; Oh, merry and bold and ever so old, As I heard one day when this story was told ! A bobolink skirmishing over the way, Called to the grasshopper, " Sir, good-day ! " And the grasshopper cobbling still at his shoe, Answered politely, " The same to you ! " And nodded his head with a little bow, Though I couldn't exactly tell you how ; For the prince of good manners — the grasshopper — he, As he cobbled away in his old oak tree ! " How much do you make by the day and the week ? " The bobolink asked with a flirt and a shriek ; "Three golden leaves of the buttercup's flower — Three crystal drops from the latest shower ; Three sacks of meal from the pollen's best That the elves shake off from the cowslip's breast ; And that doth keep me both well and good — For I'm the boss cobbler of all the wood ! " A barefoot boy, as he came along, Had loitered to list to the bobolink's song, And shy a stone, as well as he could, At the little boss cobbler of all the wood ; 140 NATURE IN VERSE. " You cobble a shoe ! " he cried as he laughed, " You're the funniest cobbler of all your craft ; Why, your leather's a leaf, and your paste — it is dew ! Oh, what a cobbler to cobble a shoe ! " But the bobolink answered with honest wrath, As he peered at the boy in the woodland path, " Each one is wisest and skillfulest, too, That knows just the work that he has to do ; For elfin feet those slippers are best, That are made from the tiniest leaflet's vest ; While Nature's leather seems fitted for you, As you wear it still ! " And away he flew. — Independent. :>XKc THE SONG OF THE BEE. BUZZ! buzz! buzz! This is the song of the bee. His legs are of yellow ; A jolly, good fellow, And yet a great worker is he. In days that are sunny He's getting his honey ; In days that are cloudy He's making his wax : On pinks and on lilies, And gay daffodillies, And columbine blossoms, He levies a tax ! SONGS OF SUMMER. 141 Buzz ! buzz ! buzz ! The sweet-smelling clover, He, humming, hangs over; The scent of the roses Makes fragrant his wings : He never gets lazy ; From thistle and daisy, And weeds of the meadow, Some treasure he brings. Buzz ! buzz ! buzz ! From morning's first light Till the coming of night, He's singing and toiling The summer day through. Oh ! we may get weary, And think work is dreary ; 'Tis harder by far To have nothing to do. — Marian Douglass. THE BUSY BEE. HOW doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower ! How skillfully she builds her cell, How neat she spreads the wax ! And labors hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. L\l NA TURE IN VERSE. In works of labor or of skill, I would be busy, too ; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. j-. In books, or work, or healthful play, Let my first years be past, That I may give for every day Some good account at last. >x*;c THE MOCKING-BIRD'S SONG. EARLY on a pleasant day, In the poet's month of May Field and forest looked so fair, So refreshing was the air, That in spite of morning dew, Forth I walked where tangling grew Many a thorn and breezy bush ; When the redbreast and the thrush Gayly raised their early lay, Thankful for returning day. Every thicket, bush, and tree Swelled with grateful harmony ; As it mildly swept along, Echo seemed to catch the song ; But the plain was wide and clear — Echo never whispered near ; From a neighboring mocking-bird Came the answering notes I heard. Isaac Watts SONGS OF SUMMER. 143 Soft and low the song began — I scarcely caught it as it ran Through the melancholy trill Of the plaintive whip-poor-will; Through the ring-dove's gentle wail, Chattering jay and whistling quail, Sparrow's twitter, catbird's cry, Redbreast's whistle, robin's sigh ; Blackbird, bluebird, swallow, lark, Each his native note might mark. Oft he tried the lesson o'er, Each time louder than before ; Burst at length the finished song, Loud and clear it poured along ; All the choir in silence heard, Hushed before this wondrous bird. All transported and amazed, Scarcely breathing, long I gazed. Now it reached the loudest swell ; Lower, lower, now it fell, Lower, lower, lower still, Scarce it sounded o'er the rill, Now the warbler ceased to sing ; Then he spread his russet wing, And I saw him take his flight, Other regions to delight. — J. R. Drake. $ 144 NATURE IN VERSE. SUPPOSE. HOW dreary would the meadows be In the pleasant summer light, Suppose there wasn't a bird to sing, And suppose the grass was white ! And dreary would the garden be With all its flowery trees, Suppose there were no butterflies, And suppose there were no bees. And what would all the beauty be, And what the song that cheers, Suppose we hadn't any eyes, And suppose we hadn't ears ? For though the grass were gay and green, And song-birds filled the glen, And the air were purple with butterflies, What good would they do, then ? Ah, think of it, my little friends, And when some pleasure flies, Why, let it go, and still be glad That you have your ears and eyes. — Alice Cary, OUT-OF-DOOR ARITHMETIC. ADD bright buds, and sun and flowers, New green leaves, and fitful showers To a bare world, and the sum Of the whole, to spring will come. SONGS OF SUMMER. 145 Multiply these leaves by more, And the flowers by a score, The result, if found aright, Will be summer, long and bright. Then divide the flowers, and soon By gray clouds and storms begun, And the quotient sure will be Autumn over land and sea. From this, then, subtract the red Of the leaves up overhead. Also every flower in sight, And you've winter, cold and bright. — Selected. tt< LETTING THE OLD CAT DIE. NOT long ago I wandered near A playground in the wood ; And there heard words from a youngster's lips That I never quite understood. " Now let the old cat die ! " he laughed. I saw him give a push, Then gayly scamper away as he spied A face peep over the bush. But what he pushed, or where he went, I could not well make out, On account of the thicket of bending boughs That bordered the place about. 146 NATURE IN VERSE. " The little villain has stoned a cat, Or hung it upon a limb, And left it to die all alone," I said ; " But I'll play the mischief with him." I forced my way through the bending boughs The poor old cat to seek ; But what did I find but a swinging child, With her bright hair brushing her cheek ! Her bright hair floated to and fro, Her little red dress flashed by ; But the loveliest thing of all, I thought, Was the gleam of her laughing eye. Swinging and swinging, back and forth, With the rose-light in her face, She seemed like a bird and flower in one, And the forest her native place. " Steady! I'll send you up, my child ; " But she stopped me with a cry, — " Go 'way, go 'way ! don't touch me, please ; I'm letting the old cat die." " You're letting him die ! " I cried aghast ; " Why, where's the cat, my dear ? " And, lo ! the laugh that filled the wood Was a thing for the birds to hear. " Why, don't you know," said the little maid, The sparkling, beautiful elf, — " That we call it letting the old cat die When the swing stops all itself ? " SONGS OF SUMMER. 147 Then, swinging and swinging and looking back With the merriest look in her eye, She bade me good-bye, and I left her alone, Letting the old cat die. — Selected. THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. "\~\ 71 LL you walk into my parlor?" V V Said a spider to a fly ; " 'Tis the prettiest little parlor That ever you .did spy. The way into my parlor Is up a winding stair, And I have many pretty things To show you when you're there." " O no, no," said the little fly, " To ask me is in vain ; For who goes up your winding stair Can ne'er come down again." " I'm sure you must be weary With soaring up so high ; Will you rest upon my little bed ? " Said the spider to the fly. " There are pretty curtains drawn around ; The sheets are fine and thin ; And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in." " O no, no," said the little fly, " For I've often heard it said They never, never wake again, Who sleep upon your bed." 148 NATURE IN VERSE. Said the cunning spider to the fly, " Dear friend, what shall I do To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you ? I have, within my pantry, Good store of all that's nice ; I'm sure you're very welcome — Will you please to take a slice ? " " O no, no," said the little fly, " Kind sir, that cannot be ; I've heard what's in your pantry, And I do not wish to see." " Sweet creature," said the spider, " You're witty and you're wise ; How handsome are your gauzy wings, How brilliant are your eyes. I have a little looking-glass Upon my parlor shelf ; If you'll step in one moment, dear, You shall behold yourself." " I thank you, gentle sir," she said, " For what you're pleased to say, And bidding you good-morning now, I'll call another day." The spider turned him round about, And went into his den, For well he knew the silly fly Would soon be back again ; So he wove a subtle web In a little corner sly, And set his table ready To dine upon the fly. SONGS OF SUMMER. 149 He went out to his door again, And merrily did sing, " Come hither, hither, pretty fly, With pearl and silver wing ; Your robes are green and purple, There's a crest upon your head ; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, But mine are dull as lead." Alas, alas ! how very soon This silly little fly, Hearing his wily, flattering words, Came slowly flitting by ; With buzzing wings she hung aloft, Then near and nearer drew — Thought only of her brilliant eyes, And green and purple hue ; Thought only of her crested head — Poor foolish thing ! At last Up jumped the cunning spider, And fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding stair, Into his dismal den Within his little parlor — but She ne'er came out again ! And now, dear little children Who may this story read, To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you, ne'er give heed. Unto an evil counselor Close heart and ear and eye ; And take a lesson from this tale Of the spider and the fly. — Mary Howitt. 150 NATURE IN VERSE. O LARK OF THE SUMMER MORNING. I LOVE to lie in the clover, With the lark like a speck in the sky, While its small, sweet throat runneth over With praise it sendeth on high. lark of the summer morning, Teach, teach me the song that you sing, 1 would learn without lightness or scorning, To give praise for every good thing. O lark of the summer morning ! Give, give me of praying the key, And I'll learn without lightness or scorning As I did at my own mother's knee. — From the Japanese. >*K< THE PEACOCK. COME, come, Mister Peacock, you must not be proud, Although you can boast such a train ; For many a bird far more highly endowed Is not half so conceited and vain. Let me tell you, gay bird, that a suit of fine clothes Is a sorry distinction at most, And seldom much valued, excepting by those Who such graces only can boast. SONGS OF SUMMER. 151 The nightingale certainly wears a plain coat, But she cheers and delights with her song ; While you, though so vain, cannot utter a note To please by the use of your tongue. The hawk cannot boast of a plumage so gay, But piercing and clear is her eye ; And while you are strutting about all the day, She gallantly soars in the sky. The dove may be clad in a plainer attire, But she is not so selfish and cold; And her love and affection more pleasure inspire, Than all your fine purple and gold. So you see, Mister Peacock, you must not be proud, Although you can boast such a train ; For many a bird is more highly endowed, And not half so conceited and vain. — Songs for the Little Ones at Home. £*Jc NURSERY SONG. AS I walked over the hill one day, I listened, and heard a mother-sheep say, " In all the green world there is nothing so sweet As my little lammie, with his nimble feet ; With his eyes so bright, And his wool so white, Oh ! he is my darling, my heart's delight," i52 NATURE IN VERSE. And the mother-sheep and her little one Side by side lay down in the sun ; And they went to sleep on the hillside warm, While my little lammie lies here on my arm. I went to the kitchen, and what did I see But the old gray cat with her kittens three ! I heard her whispering soft ; said she, " My kittens, with tails so cunningly curled, Are the prettiest things that can be in the world. The bird on the tree, And the old ewe — she, May love their babies exceedingly, But I love my kittens there, Under the rocking chair. I love my kittens with all my might, I love them at morning, noon, and night, Now I'll take up my kitties, the kitties I love, And we'll lie down together beneath the warm stove." Let the kittens sleep under the stove so warm, While my little darling lies here on my arm. I went to the yard, and I saw the old hen Go clucking about with her chickens ten ; She clucked and she scratched and she bustled away, And what do you think I heard the hen say ? I heard her say, " The sun never did shine On anything like to these chickens of mine ! You may hunt the full moon and the stars if you please, But you never will find ten such chickens as these ; My dear downy darlings, my sweet little things, Come, nestle now cosily under my wings." SONGS OF SUMMER. 153 So the hen said, And the chickens all sped, As fast as they could, to their nice feather bed, And there let them sleep in their feathers so warm, While my little chick lies here on my arm. — Mrs. Carter. IN THE SWING. HERE we go to the branches high ! Here we come to the grasses low ! For the spiders and flowers and birds and I Love to swing when the breezes blow. Swing, little bird, on the topmost bough; Swing, little spider, with rope so fine; Swing, little flower, for the wind blows now, But none of you have such a swing as mine. Dear little bird, come sit on my toes; I'm just as careful as I can be ; And oh, I tell you, nobody knows What fun we'd have if you'd play with me ! Come and swing with me, birdie dear, Bright little flower, come swing in my hair ; But you, little spider, creepy and queer, — You'd better stay and swing over there ! The sweet little bird, he sings and sings, But he doesn't even look in my face ; The bright little blossom swings and swings, But still it swings in the self-same place. *54 . NATURE IN VERSE. Let them stay where they like it best; Let them do what they'd rather do ; My swing is nicer than all the rest, But maybe it's rather small for two. (c Here we go to the branches high ! Here we come to the grasses low! For the spiders and flowers and birds and I Love to swing when the breezes blow. Swing, little bird, on the topmost bough ; Swing, little spider, with rope so fine ; Swing little flower, for the wind blows now ; But none of you have such a swing as mine. — Eudora S. Bumstead — St. Nicholas. >>©<< GOOD-NIGHT AND GOOD-MORNING. A FAIR little girl sat under a tree, Sewing as long as her eyes could see ; Then smoothed her work and folded it right, And said, — " Dear work, good-night, good-night ! " Such a number of crows came over her head, Crying " Caw, caw ! " on their way to bed, She said, as she watched their curious flight, " Little black things, good-night, good-night ! " The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed, The sheep's " Bleat, bleat ! " came over the road ; All seeming to say, with a quiet delight, " Good little girl, good-night, good-night ! " SONGS OF SUMMER. 155 She did not say to the sun, " Good-night ! " Though she saw him there like a ball of light ; For she knew he had God's time to keep All over the world, and never could sleep. The tall, pink fox-glove bowed his head ; The violets curtsied, and went to bed ; And good little Lucy tied up her hair, And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer. And, while on her pillow she softly lay, She knew nothing more till again it was day ; And all things said to the beautiful sun, " Good-morning, good-morning ; our work is begun ! " — Lord Houghton. >>*:< THE BANK-SWALLOWS. IN a village of Bank-Swallows You will find so many a nest, " That you scarce can tell their number Nor which one of them is best." In the sand-hill, see the openings, Round or oval, odd-shaped, some, Size and form depending, often, On how loose the sands become. When with their short bills they pecked it, Clinging fast with claws the while, Till they made an open doorway Suiting them in size and style. 156 NATURE IN VERSE. Once within, they peck and peck it, — Sometimes quite a yard or more, While the nest is snugly builded, Farthest from the outer door. «•. But, so wise are they, this archway, From the entrance to the nest, Is inclining ever upward, That no rain within may rest. So the pink-white eggs are laid there, Safe from harm, till baby-birds Chirrup forth to take their places, 'Mongst the self-sustaining herds. Parent-birds care less for young ones, Than do other swallow-kind ; — Push them off half-fledged and timid, Each his food and home to find. Thus they, many a time, fall prey to Hawks and crows, — their enemies ; — Even the nest sometimes is entered By the snakes and fleas and flies. Swallows migrate in the winter, From the cold to warmer climes, — Flying back as spring approaches, To the haunts of former times. " Ne'er one swallow makes a summer," Is a saying everywhere ; But when swallows come in myriads, Blessed summer-time is here. — Selected. SONGS OF SUMMER. 157 THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING. WHAT do the robins whisper about From their homes in the elms and birches ? I've tried to study the riddle out, But still in my mind is many a doubt, In spite of deep researches. While over the world is silence deep, In the twilight of early dawning, They begin to chirp and twitter and peep, As if they were talking in their sleep, At three o'clock in the morning. Perhaps the little ones stir and complain That it's time to be up and doing ; And the mother-bird sings a drowsy strain To coax them back to their dreams again, Though distant cocks are crowing. Or do they tell secrets that should not be heard By mortals listening and prying ? Perhaps we might learn from some whispering word The best way to bring up a little bird — Or the wonderful art of flying. It may be they speak of an autumn day, When, with many a feathered roamer, Under the clouds so cold and gray, Over the hill they take their way, In search of the vanished summer. It may be they gossip from nest to nest, Hidden and leaf-enfolded ; 158 NATURE IN VERSE. For do we not often hear it confessed, When a long-kept secret at last is guessed, That " a little bird has told it " ? Perhaps — but the question is wrapped in doubt, They give me no hint or warning. Listen, and tell me if you find out What do the robins talk about At three o'clock in the morning. — R.S. Palfrey, >>©<< WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S NEST? T O-WHIT, to-whit, to-whee! Will you listen to me ? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made? " " Not I," said the cow ; " moo-oo ! Such a thing I'd never do. I gave you a wisp of hay, But didn't take your nest away. Not I," said the cow ; " moo-oo ! Such a thing I'd never do ! " " Bob-o'-link ! bob-o'-link ! Now, what do you think ? Who stole a nest away From the plum-tree to-day ? SONGS OF SUMMER. 159 "Not I," said the dog; " bow-wow ! I wouldn't be so mean anyhow. I gave hairs the nest to make, But the nest I did not take. Not I," said the dog; "bow-wow! I wouldn't be so mean anyhow ! " " Coo-coo, coo-coo, coo-coo ! Let me speak a word or two : Who stole that pretty nest From little yellow breast ? " " Not I," said the sheep ; " oh, no ! I wouldn't treat a poor bird so. I gave wool the nest to line, But the nest was none of mine. Baa, baa ! " said the sheep ; " oh, no ! I wouldn't treat a poor bird so ! " " Caw, caw ! " cried the crow ; " I should like to know What thief took away A bird's nest to-day ? " " Chick, chick ! " said the hen ; " Don't ask me again ; Why, I haven't a chick Would do such a trick ! We each gave her a feather And she wove them together. I'd scorn to intrude On her and her brood. Cluck, cluck ! " said the hen ; " Don't ask me again." 160 NATURE IN VERSE. " Chir-a-whir ! chir-a-whir! We'll make a great stir, And find out his name, And all cry, ' For shame ! ' " " I would not rob a bird," Said little Mary Green ; " I think I never heard Of anything so mean." " It is very cruel too," Said little Alice Neal ; " I wonder if he knew How sad the bird would feel ! " A little boy hung down his head, And went and hid behind the bed ; For he stole that pretty nest, From poor little yellow breast ; And he felt so full of shame, He didn't like to tell his name. — L. Maria Child. THE PETER-BIRD. WHEN summer's birds are bringing Their clear, concerted singing, Singing gladder, gladder, gladder in their glees ; When finches and the thrushes Make vocal all the bushes, And the lark his note of morning welcome frees • I hear no meter sweeter Than " Peter— Peter — Peter," That the Peter-bird is singing in my trees. SONGS OF SUMMER. 161 How good to lie and listen, Where brooks in summer glisten, As they ripple, ripple, ripple to the seas ; Where faintly in the pebbles They play their pretty trebles In the plaintive, sad, and tender minor keys ; But they can play no meter Like " Peter — Peter — Peter," That the Peter-bird is singing in my trees. When softly at the nooning I hear the clover crooning Of its nectar, nectar, nectar, and the bees ; When corn a-field is drying, And fading blades are flying With a floating pennon-rustle in the breeze, Oh, sweet it is, but sweeter Is " Peter — Peter— Peter," That the Peter-bird is singing in my trees. When summer's joy is over And bees have robbed the clover, Leaving odor, only odor, to appease ; When red autumnal juices Make music in their sluices As the fruity currents gurgle from their lees ; The wine-tide sings not sweeter Than " Peter — Peter — Peter," That the Peter-bird is singing in my trees. — Henry Thompson Stanton — Century, Aug. 1889= M 162 NATURE IN VERSE. A FABLE. I KNOW not what sly little fairy Crept into the woods that day, But every birdie tried singing, Each in his neighbor's way. Said Robin, " I'm tired of shouting My loud notes the whole day through, I'll warble softly and sweetly, Like my neighbor dressed in blue." Said Bluebird, " I'm tired of singing My poor little piping song ; I'll make my notes like the robin's, Saucy, and bold and strong." Said Bobolink, ceasing his singing Atop of a blossoming spray, " I'm sick of my tinkling nonsense, I'll sing like the thrush to-day." Said the Thrush, " I'm tired of lisping Sad notes to these shadows dark, I'll hie me away to the meadows And merrily sing like the lark." Bobolink began ; — such an odd little noise ; Said the solemn pine-trees, " Hush ! You're just a saucy meadow bird, You never will be a thrush." The thrush and robin and bluebird ! You ought to have heard the brook Laugh at their queer performances ; The grasses bent double and shook T SONGS OF SUMMER. 163 Their airy heads with laughter, The daisies stared and blushed For their friends, the little musicians. Just then the gray sky flushed, And the sun came up to the rescue, Wearing his comforting smile, u My dears," he said, " this nonsense Is never worth your while. " Go each and attend to singing Your own sweet song of praise, There's naught in the world so foolish As aping your neighbor's ways." — Popular Educator. -^oXKc THE BIRDS' LAWN PARTY. HE birds of the woodland, in soft summer weather, Once gave a lawn party, way down in the heather. Their neat invitations were written, you see, On the prettiest leaves from the prettiest tree. Then daintily tied with a fine silver thread, And gracefully hung round a carrier-dove's head, Who sped on her mission with a joyful glee, And delivered each note with an " R. S. V. P." To flowers and insects and plants, one and all, Were sent invitations to attend the grand ball. 164 NATURE IN VERSE. The night soon arrived, and the moon shone so bright, That the birds sang together in happy delight. The Bullfrogs and Tree-toads, who lived very near, In hew coats of green satin were first to appear. Then followed musicians, a numerous band Who were led by Mosquitoes from Cedar Swamp Land. The Beetle came in with Miss Grasshopper Green ; Then Crickets and Flies were the next to be seen. That the Wasp and the Spider, both stylishly dressed, Were the most graceful dancers, by all was confessed. There were Robin Redbreast and dear Jennie Wren ; Causing all the Magpies to chatter again. And the Nightingale, too, in a loving refrain, Was wooing the Dove, his old sweetheart, again ; While lingering near, in a blackberry bush, Was the silver-tongued Linnet, and fair bride, the Thrush Now who do you think the chaperons there ! Why, the three Mrs. Owls, from Dismal Swamp Square. The flowers and plants, though the last to appear, Wore the loveliest costumes of any one there. With just one exception — the Butterflies gay, Whose costumes are made by the fairies, they say. The Daisies were peerless in robes of pure white, And their proud, happy mothers looked on in delight. SONGS OF SUMMER. 165 The Buttercups followed, of riches untold, For each was arrayed in a gown of pure gold ; And the Clovers looked sweet in pale pink and white, As they merrily danced in the moon's silver light. The Rosebud, the fairest, and queen of them all, Was acknowledged the belle of this beautiful ball. The music was charming, the feast was quite grand ; There were sweetmeats enough for all guests in the land. For each little flower who daintily sups, The Fairies served dewdrops in lily-bell cups. The dancing continued, the merriment, too, Till the Moon became weary, and softly withdrew. The Fireflies said they would serve in her place, Since the Moon had so selfishly hidden her face. Then the three Mrs. Owls from guest to guest flew, Said, " The Moon has retired ; I think we must, too." The Fireflies came with their swift-flashing light, And escorted the flowers and plants home that night. All the guests bade adieu, and their homeward way wended, From the nicest affair they had ever attended. — Child Garden. » 166 NATURE IN VERSE. THE HAPPY BIRD. OH, if I were a little bird Happy would I be, Perched all day on a leafy tree ; Oh, down in the meadow Drinking in the dew, I'd be a merry bird, say, wouldn't you ? Not a single grammar lesson, Not a word to spell, Funny old schoolhouse Without any bell ! Oh, a cherry for a lunch And a blossom for a book And a dinner with the honey bee, Down by the brook. Selected. >>*<< THE HIDDEN SONGSTER. HARK! Hear you not that long, shrill strain ? Where is the singer hid ? I've looked, and looked, but all in vain. Where are you ? " Katy-did," Comes back in answer to my call. " Did what ? Did what ? " I cry. But " Katy-did," and that is all He gives me in reply. SONGS OF SUMMER. 167 Please tell me Katy's other name — I really want to know ; For should I find her much to blame, It would not vex me so. To whom does this strange Kate belong ? Is she your little wife ? And have you sung that noisy song Through all your married life ? And thus I question ; but in vain, For in the darkness hid, He utters not another strain But that shrill " Katy-did." — Selected. >^c TRUANT. TOMMY thought there was nobody looking When he came running over the hill ; Stopping to hide in a thicket of willows, Till the bell in the village was still. Tommy thought there was no one to see him, None in the road, or the fields, or the wood, But all the willows, and all the grasses, And clouds and daisies could see where he stood. All the buttercups standing together, All the wild roses that stood by the way, Laughed and rustled, " See Tommy, see Tommy, Tommy played truant to-day." 168 NATURE IN VERSE. Bees and butterflies flying before him, Told the story deep in the wood, " Here comes Tommy, here comes Tommy, Tommy hasn't been good." Saucy waves laughed out in the river, " Tommy had lessons to-day, He's so careless, and lazy, and dull, He wanted to run away." So all day wherever he wandered, So whatever he tried to do, Everything was upbraiding Tommy. I think he deserved it. Don't you ? — S. A. Hudson. LADYBIRD, LADYBIRD. LADYBIRD, ladybird! fly away home ! The field-mouse has gone to her nest, The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes, And the bees and the birds are at rest. Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! The glow-worm is lighting her lamp, The dew's falling fast, and your fine speckled wings Will flag with the close-clinging damp. Ladybird, ladybird ! fly away home ! Good luck if you reach it at last ! The owl's come abroad, and the bat's on the roam, Sharp set from their Ramazan a fast. 1 Ramazan, the holy month of the Mohammedans, in which they keep their lenten fast. SONGS OF SUMMER. 169 Ladybird, ladybird ! fly away home ! The fairy bells tinkle afar ! Make haste or they'll catch you, and harness you fast With a cobweb to Oberon's car. Ladybird, ladybird ! fly away home ! To your house in the old willow-tree, Where your children so dear have invited the ant And a few cozy neighbors to tea. Ladybird, ladybird ! fly away home ! And if not gobbled up by the way, Nor yoked by the fairies to Oberon's car, You're in luck ! and that's all I've to say ! — Caroline B. Southey. LADYBUG, LADYBUG. LADYBUG, ladybug, haste away home ! Your house is on fire, Your children will burn. Dear ladybug, I am sorry for you If your house is on fire. Oh, what will you do ? And your poor little children All burning, dear me ! It does seem as cruel As cruel can be. Oh, why don't you hurry, You slow little elf ? If I knew where you lived, I would go there myself. i70 NATURE IN VERSE. The house might burn down While you're turning about. 'Tis because you are feeling So badly, no doubt, That you hardly can stir — No wonder, poor dear ! You must be half crazy Such bad news to hear ; Though I've told it to dozens, I think, beside you, I feel Just like crying whenever I do. Now think of your babies ! Run, ladybug, run ! I do hope some neighbor Has saved every one From the terrible fire. And ladybug, then, You can build a new house, And be happy again. >**< Selected. MRS. BRINDLE'S COWSLIP FEAST. A COW lived in a pleasant field, Where cowslips bloomed in spring. Said she, " I think a cowslip feast Would be a pleasant thing." So Mrs. Brindle sent a calf Around the farm, to say That she should give a cowslip feast At four o'clock that day. SONGS OF SUMMER. 171 At four o'clock she sat in state Beside the flowing brook ; The cowslips, with their golden heads, Did most inviting look. The brindle calf in apron stood To ope the five-barred gate ; And then his mother said that he Upon the guests must wait. The company at length drew near ; First Mrs. Blossom came, And Mrs. Dun, and Mr. Bull, Who seemed to-day quite tame. Red, spotted, white, a goodly band Of cows and calves came nigh ; And Mr. Donkey said that he Would cowslips like to try. And Mrs. Mare came with her foal, And Mr. Horse cams too, And several sheep with frisky lambs, In woolen dresses new. Then Mrs. Brindle bade her guests The cowslips sweet to eat ; And if they wished to drink, she said, The brook was clear and sweet. They ate and drank, and chatted too ; And, when they went away, Said, " Thank you, for your cowslip feast, Dear brindle cow, to-day." — Selected. 172 NATURE IN VERSE. THE OXEN. THE oxen are such clever beasts, They'll drag the plow all day ; They're very strong, and tug along Great loads of wood or hay. They feed on grass, when green or dry ; Their flesh is beef, for food ; Their lungs are " lights," their stomach tripe, Their skin for leather's good. Their hair men use in mortar too — Lime, water, sand, and hair, They nicely mix and smoothly fix, For plastering, so fair. For making soap their bones are used ; Their horns for combs we group ; Their feet are boiled for " neat's-foot oil," Their tails for ox-tail soup. Their heart-case forms a money-bag ; Their tallow, candles white ; Their intestine, gold-beater's skin, With each gold-leaf we smite. Thus every part is useful made ; The same is true of cows, — Except their ilk gives luscious milk Instead of dragging plows. Oxen and cows are " cattle " called ; They go in " herds " when wild ; And when they're tame by other name, — A " drove," en masse they're styled. SONGS OF SUMMER. 173 Their little ones are " calves " — and cows' Rich milk produces cream, Which butter makes, and nice cheese-cakes With curd, whey, and caseine. And now 'tis funny, but 'tis true, Some children young and mazy, Have thought their eyes were used some-wise To make the ox-eyed daisy. This cannot be, yet creatures' bones Placed round trees, plants, and bowers Will serve to feed just what they need, To grow fine fruits and flowers. — Selected. ^XXC V MRS. PUSSY. MRS. PUSSY, sleek and fat, With her kittens four Went to sleep upon the mat By the kitchen door. Mrs. Pussy heard a noise, Up she jumped to see ; " Kittens, maybe that's a mouse, Let us go and see." Creeping, creeping, creeping on, Silently they stole, But that little mouse had gone Back into its hole. i74 NATURE IN VERSE. "Well," said Mrs. Pussy, there, " To the barn we'll go ; We shall find the swallows there Flying to and fro." So the cat and kittens four Tried their very best ; But the swallows flying fast Safely reached the nest. Home went hungry Mrs. Puss And her kittens four ; Found their dinner on a plate, By the kitchen door. As they gathered round the plate, They agreed 'twas nice That it couldn't run away Like the birds and mice. ^c Selected. A BOY'S SONG. WHERE the pools are bright and deep, Where the gray trout lies asleep, Up the river and over the lea, That's the way for Billy and me. Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee, That's the way for Billy and me. SONGS OF SUMMER. 175 Where the mowers mow the cleanest, Where the hay lies thick and greenest, There to trace the homeward bee, That's the way for Billy and me. Where the hazel bank is steepest, Where the shadow falls the deepest, Where the clustering nuts fall free, That's the way for Billy and me. Why the boys should drive away Little sweet maidens from the play, Or love to banter and fight so well, That's the thing I never could tell. But this I know, I love to play, Through the meadow, among the hay; Up the water and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me. — The Ettrick Shepherd >>**< THE COTTON PLANT. SING, oh sing for the cotton plant! Bravely may it grow, Bearing in its seeded pod Cotton white as snow ! Spin the cotton into thread ; Weave it in the loom ; Wear it now, dear little child, In your happy home. 176 NATURE IN VERSE. When you've worn it well and long, Will it worthless be ? No ; a book made from this dress You yet, in time, may see. Sort the rags and grind the pulp ; Weave the paper fair ; Now it only waits for words To be printed there. Thoughts from God to man sent down May these pages show. Sing, oh sing for the cotton plant ! Bravely may it grow ! May ten thousand cotton plants Spring up fresh and fair, That words of wisdom and of love O'er all the world shall bear. — Selected. ;>*« TWO OF A TRADE. THE dragon-fly and I together Sail up the stream in the summer weather ; He at the stern, all green and gold, And I at the oars, our course to hold. Above the floor of the level river The bent blades dip and spring and quiver ; And the dragon-fly is here and there, Along the water and in the air. SONGS OF SUMMER. 177 And thus we go as the sunshine mellows, A pair of nature's merriest fellows ; For the Spanish cedar is light and true, And instead of one, it has carried two. And thus we sail without care or sorrow, With trust for to-day and hope for to-morrow ; He at the stern, all green and gold, And I at the oars, our course to hold. — S. W.Duffield. >XKc A SUMMER LULLABY. THE sun has gone from the shining skies; Bye, baby, bye, The dandelions have closed their eyes ; Bye, baby, bye. And the stars are lighting their lamps to see If the babies and squirrels and birds, all three, Are sound asleep as they ought to be. Bye, baby, bye. The squirrel is dressed in a coat of gray ; Bye, baby, bye. He wears it by night as well as by day ; Bye, baby, bye. The robin sleeps in his feathers and down, With the warm red breast and the wings of brown ; But the baby wears a little white gown. Bye, baby, bye. 178 NATURE IN VERSE. The squirrel's nest is a hole in the tree ; Bye, baby, bye. And there he sleeps as snug as can be; Bye, baby, bye. The robin's nest is high overhead, Where the leafy boughs of the maple spread, But the baby's nest is a little white bed. Bye, baby, bye. — E. S. Bumstead — St. Nicholas. >>© < Songs of autumn. THE SEASONS. j^OUR babies lay in their cradles new, Beginning to think of " What shall I do The world to brighten and beautify ? " The Spring baby first said, " Let me try." So she put on a dress of freshest green, With trimmings the loveliest ever seen — Trimmings of tulips and hyacinths rare And trailing arbutus looped everywhere. " How perfectly beautiful ! " Summer said; " But wait till you see my dress of red And darker green with golden spots, Trimmed with, roses and pinks and forget-me-nots." " Pooh ! " said Autumn, " my dress will be A more substantial one, you'll see ; With skirt of finest and yellowest wheat, A girdle of grapes and squash turban neat." Then Winter came silently tripping along, Chanting softly a Christmas song, In a pure white dress with jewels spread, Holding a basket of books on his head. 187 188 NATURE IN VERSE. Poems and stories and pictures were there Of the Christ child, the Yule log of folk-lore rare. " I am not in bright colors," he said, with a smile, " But the long winter evenings my gifts here beguile." — Helen Adelaide Ricker. V >>«< LOST: THE SUMMER. WHERE has the summer gone ? She was here just a minute ago, With roses and daisies To whisper her praises — And every one loved her so ! Has any one seen her about ? She must have gone off in the night ! And she took the best flowers And the happiest hours, And asked no one's leave for her flight. Have you noticed her steps in the grass ? The garden looks red where she went ; By the side of the hedge There's a goldenrod edge, And the rose-vines are withered and bent. Don't you fear she is sorry she went ? It seems but a minute since May ! I'm scarcely half through What I wanted to do ; If she only had waited a day ! SONGS OF AUTUMN. 189 Do you think she will ever come back ? I shall watch every day at the gate For the robins and clover, Saying over and over : " I know she will come, if I wait ! " — R. M. Alden — The Pansy, Sept., 1894. 3>X< AUTUMN. THE world puts on its robes of glory now; The very flowers are tinged with deeper dyes ; The waves are bluer, and the angels pitch Their shining tents along the sunset skies. The distant hills are crowned with purple mist ; The days are mellow, and the long calm nights, To wondering eyes, like weird magicians show The shifting splendors of the Northern Lights. The generous earth spreads out her faithful stores, And all the leaves are thick with ripened sheaves ; While in the woods, at Autumn's rustling step, The maples blush through all their trembling leaves. — Albert Laighton. AUTUMN SONG. NO clouds are in the morning sky The vapors hug the stream — Who says that life and love can die In all this northern gleam ! 190 NATURE IN VERSE. At every turn the maples burn, The quail is whistling free, The partridge whirrs, and the frosted burrs Are dropping for you and me. Ho ! hilly ho ! heigh O ! Hilly ho ! In the clear October morning. Along our path the woods are bold And glow with ripe desire ; The yellow chestnut showers its gold, The sumachs spread their fire ; The breezes feel as crisp as steel, The buckwheat tops are red : Then down the lane, love, scurry again, And over the stubble tread ! Ho ! hilly ho ! heigh O ! Hilly ho / In the clear October morning. E. C. Stedman. *&s ABOUT THE FAIRIES. PRAY, where are the little bluebells gone, That lately bloomed in the wood ? Why, the little fairies have each taken one, And put it on for a hood. And where are the pretty grass-stalks gone, That waved in the summer breeze ? Oh, the fairies have taken them every one, To plant in their gardens, like trees. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 191 And where are the great big bluebottles gone, That buzzed in their busy pride ? Oh, the fairies have caught them every one, And have broken them in to ride. And they've taken the glow-worms to light their halls, And the cricket to sing them a song, And the great red rose-leaves to paper their walls, And they're feasting the whole night long. But when spring comes, with its soft, mild ray, And the ripple of gentle rain, The fairies bring back what they've taken away, And give it us all again. — Selected. TRIFLES. A RAINDROP is a little thing, But on the thirsty ground, It helps to make the flowers of spring, And beauty spread around. A ray of light may seem to be Lost in the blaze of day ; But its sweet mission God can see, Who sends it on its way. — Colesworthy . % 192 NATURE IN VERSE. SUNSHINE. I WISH the beautiful sun would shine, Every, every day, Beaming over the whole great world, And making it bright and gay. I wish that every gloomy cloud Would hurry and hide away, Wherever it came from — I don't know Nor care — if they'd go and stay. I wish, I wish — but what is the use Of wishing, I'd like to know ? For grandmother says that clouds and shine Will always come and go. But wee little girls like me, she says, Can smile, and smile, and smile, Till every one who sees will think It is sunshine all the while. I'd like to try it, but, don't you see, A bit of a smile like mine Would reach such a very little way And make such a little shine ? But ah — if every boy and girl Would smile, and smile, and see How far they could make the brightness go, How shining the world would be ! Selected. l^ /- SONGS OF AUTUMN. 193 SEPTEMBER. THE goldenrod is yellow ; The corn is turning brown ; The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down. The gentian's bluest fringes Are curling in the sun ; In dusty poofs the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun. The sedges flaunt their harvest, In every meadow nook ; And asters by the brook-side Make asters in the brook. From dewy lanes at morning The grapes' sweet odors rise ; At noon the roads all nutter With yellow butterflies. By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather, And autumn's best of cheer. — Helen Hunt Jackson. GOLDENROD. TELL me, sunny goldenrod, Growing everywhere, Did fairies come from fairyland And make the dress you wear ? o 194 NATURE IN VERSE. Did you get from mines of gold Your bright and shining hue ? Or did the baby stars some night Fall down and cover you ? Or did the angels wave their wings And drop their glitter down Upon you, laughing goldenrod, Your nodding head to crown ? Or are you clad in sunshine Caught from summer's brightest day, To give again in happy smiles To all who pass your way ? I love you, laughing goldenrod, And I will try, like you, To fill each day with deeds of cheer ; Be loving, kind, and true. — Mrs. F. J. Lovejoy. >xx< GOLDENROD. " T TOW in the world did I happen to bloom 1 A All by myself, alone By the side of a dusty country roact> With only a rough old stone " For company ? " And the golden-rod, As she drooped her yellow head, Gave a mournful sigh. " Who cares for me, Or knows I'm alive ? " she said. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 195 " A snow-white daisy I'd like to be, Half hid in the cool green sod ; Or a pink spiraea, or a sweet wild rose — But I'm only a goldenrod ! " Nobody knows that I'm here, nor cares Whether I live or die ! Lovers of beautiful flowers, who wants Such a common thing as I ? " But all of a sudden she ceased her plaint ; For a child's voice cried in glee, " Here's a dear, little, lovely goldenrod ! Did you bloom on purpose for me ? " Down by the brook the tall spiraea And the purple asters nod, And beckon to me — but more than all Do I lovQyou, goldenrod! " She raised the flower to her rosy lips, And merrily kissed its face. " Ah ! now I see," said the goldenrod, " How this is the very place "That was meant for me; and I'm glad I bloomed •Just here by the road alone, With nobody near for company But a dear old mossy stone ! " — Selected. XT* 196 NATURE IN VERSE. IN SEPTEMBER. MORNINGS frosty grow, and cold, Brown the grass on hill and wold ; Crows are cawing sharp and clear When the rustling corn grows sere ; Mustering flocks of blackbirds call, Here and there a few leaves fall, In the meadows larks sing sweet, Chirps the cricket at our feet, In September. Noons are sunny, warm, and still, A golden haze o'erhangs the hill, Amber sunshine's on the floor Just within the open door. Still the crickets call and creak, Never found, though long we seek; Oft comes faint report of gun, Busy flies buzz in the sun, In September. Evenings chilly are, and damp, Early lighted is the lamp ; Fire burns, and kettle sings, Smoke ascends in thin blue rings ; On the rug the children lie, In the west the soft lights die, From the elms a robin's song Rings out sweetly, lingers long, In September. — Sunday Afternoon. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 197 THE SPIRIT OF THE SUNSET. WHEN the aster wakes in the morning, In these sweet autumn days, She sees the sumach burning, And the maples in a blaze, And she rubs her eyes, bewildered, All in the golden haze. Then : " No, — they still are standing ; They're not on fire at all " — She softly says, when slowly She sees some crimson fall, And yellow flakes come floating Down from the oaks so tall. And then she knows the spirit Of the sunset must have planned The myriad bright surprises That deck the dying land, — And she wonders if the sumach And the maples understand. — Selected. GENTIAN. IN spring I found the violet And rosy Mayflowers sweet ; And next, white-fingered daisy Was courtesying at my feet; Then wild rose swung her censer, And, in a secret hour, The lonely meadow flamed abroad With gorgeous cardinal flower. 198 NATURE IN VERSE. Soon goldenrod close followed And aster's gentle eye ; Now withered leaves and dying sod Beneath a somber sky. I start — among the grasses What eyes of heaven-blue gleam, All darkly fringed with lashes Beside the quiet stream ? Oh ! glance of true affection, The gentian still is here; The promise set 'mid fading, The darling of the year. Kate L. Brown. >XXc MARIGOLDS. DAME NATURE years and years ago Sat resting in a wayside bower, And looked into a cottage yard Without the grace of one wee flower, To thank for light the sweet blue skies, And bless the children's longing eyes. She leaned her head upon her hand, And took her glasses off to think ; " Sunshine there is to spare," she said, " And dew enough for all to drink, If there were many blossoms more To grow upon the earth's green floor." SONGS OF AUTUMN. 199 Then rising quickly from her seat She plucked beneath the cottage eaves The sunbeams that were wasted there, And bound them into tiny sheaves, Tied them with dainty bands of green, And then, on tall stems scarcely seen, Set them beside the cottage door, Beneath the wall, and by the gate, And when the morning came that way It found them all in golden state : Gay blossoms lifted toward the sky, And nodding to a butterfly. The dew was on their shining heads Just ruffled by the laughing breeze ; The children danced and clapped their hands ; Out from the corn-flowers flew the bees ; All summer breathed in their rich folds, And people called them marigolds. — Susati Hartley. ^c THE FLAX FLOWER. OH, the little flax flower ! It groweth on the hill, And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep, It never standeth still. It groweth, and it groweth fast ; One day it is a seed, 200 NATURE IN VERSE. And then a little grassy blade Scarce better than a weed. But then out comes the flax flower As blue as is the sky ; And " Tis a dainty little thing," We say as we go by. Ah ! 'tis a goodly little thing ; It groweth for the poor, And many a peasant blesseth it Beside his cottage door. He thinketh how those slender stems That shimmer in the sun, Are rich for him in web or woof And shortly shall be spun. He thinketh how those tender flowers Of seed will yield him store, And sees in thought his next year's crop, Blue shining round his door. Oh, the little flax flower ! The mother then says she, " Go, pull the thyme, the heath, the fern, But let the flax flower be ! It groweth for the children's sake, It groweth for our own ; There are flowers enough upon the hill, But leave the flax alone ! The farmer hath his fields of wheat, Much cometh to his share ; We have this little plot of flax, That we have tilled with care." SONGS OF AUTUMN. 201 Oh, the goodly flax flower ! It groweth on the hill, And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep, It never standeth still ; It seemeth all astir with life, As if it loved to thrive, As if it had a merry heart Within its stem alive. Then fair befall the flax field, And may the kindly shower Give strength unto its shining stem, Give seed unto its flower ! — Mary Howitt. >xx< THE WIND. WHAT is the wind, mamma ? " " 'Tis air in motion, child." " Why can I never see the wind That blows so fierce and wild ? " " Because the gases, dear, Of which the air is made, Are quite transparent ; that is, we See through, but see no shade." " And what are gases, ma ? " "Fluids, which, if we squeeze In space too small, will burst with force." " And what are fluids, please ? " 202 NATURE IN VERSE. " Fluids are what will flow, And gases are so light That, when we give them room enough, They rush with eager flight." " What gases, dear mamma, Make up the air or wind ? " " 'Tis oxygen and nitrogen That chiefly there we find ; " And when the air is full Of oxygen, we're gay, But when there is not quite enough, We're dull or faint away." — Mother Truth's Melodies. :>XKc THE POINTS OF THE COMPASS. SAID Wind to the bright little weather vane, " I'll teach you, I'll teach you ; Mind my commands, come sunshine or rain ; I'll teach you, I'll teach you." Said Wind to the bright little weather vane, " Find east, dear, the east, dear, 'Tis where the sun comes up again ; The east, dear, the east, dear. " Now turn to the west where the sun goes down, The west, dear, the west, dear, See all the little clouds wear a shining crown, In the west, dear, in the west, dear. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 203 " Now turn to the south, where the warm winds blow, The south, dear, the south, dear. You will like that best of all, I know, The south, dear, the south, dear. " Now turn to the home of the north wind bold, Find north, dear, the north, dear, Ugh ! ice and snow — but who cares for the cold? The north, dear, the north, dear. " North, west, east, and south, now find in turn ; That's right, dear, just right, dear, You're a brave little fellow and quick to learn ; Good-night, dear, good-night, dear." — Selected. \r- AUTUMN LEAVES. " /^OME, little leaves," said the wind one day, ^^ " Come over the meadows with me, and play Put on your dresses of red and gold ; Summer is gone, and the days grow cold." Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call, Down they came fluttering, one and all ; Over the brown fields they danced and flew, Singing the soft little songs they knew. " Cricket, good-bye, we've been friends so long ; Little brook, sing us your farewell song — Say you're sorry to see us go ; Ah! you are sorry, right well we know. 204 NATURE IN VERSE. " Dear little lambs, in your fleecy fold, Mother will keep you from harm and cold ; Fondly we've watched you in vale and glade ; Say, will you dream of our loving shade ? " Dancing and whirling the little leaves went ; Winter had called them and they were content — Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds, The snow laid a soft mantle over their heads. — Selected. THE LITTLE LEAVES. " \^/E must go," sighed little Ruby, V V Orange, Topaz, Garnet, Gold; " For the chilly breeze is calling, And the year is growing old. Good-bye, quiet, sunny meadow, That we nevermore shall see ; Good-bye, winding brooks of silver, Snow lambs and dear old tree — Dear old loving mother tree." From the branches down they fluttered Like a rainbow scattered wide ; And the old tree looked so lonely, That was once the woodland's pride ; But the wind came wildly piping, And they danced in glee ; Ruby, Topaz, Garnet, Orange, Soon forgot the poor old tree — Poor old loving mother tree. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 205 But when skies of drear November Frowned upon their wild delight, All the little leaves grew lonely, And they wandered back one night, And they nestled in a hollow At the foot of the old tree, Sighing, " All the long white winter We shall now as quiet be, Near our dear old mother tree." — George Cooper. >XKc HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN. " T'LL tell you how the leaves came down." A The great tree to his children said, " You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, Yes, very sleepy, little Red. It is quite time to go to bed." "Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf, " Let us a little longer stay ; Dear Father Tree, behold our grief ; 'Tis such a very pleasant day We do not want to go away." So, for just one more merry day To the great tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced, and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung, Whispering all their sports among, — 206 NATURE IN VERSE. " Perhaps the great tree will forget, • And let us stay until the spring, If we all beg, and coax, and fret." But the great tree did no such thing ; He smiled to hear their whispering. " Come, children, all to bed," he cried ; And ere the leaves could urge their prayer, He shook his head, and far and wide, Fluttering and rustling everywhere, Down sped the leaflets through the air. I saw them ; on the ground they lay, Golden and red, a huddled swarm, Waiting till one from far away, White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, Should come to wrap them safe and warm. The great bare tree looked down and smiled, " Good-night, dear little leaves," he said. And from below each sleepy child Replied, " Good-night," and murmured, " It is so nice to go to bed ! " — Susan Coolidge. V >XK< OCTOBER'S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER. SUN and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October's bright blue weather ; SONGS OF AUTUMN. 207 When loud the bumblebee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant, And goldenrod is dying fast, And lanes with grapes are fragrant ; When gentians roll their fingers tight To save them for the morning, And chestnuts fall from satin burrs Without a sound of warning ; When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining, And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining ; , \s When all the lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields, still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing ; When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting, Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting ; When comrades seek sweet country haunts, By twos and twos together, And count like misers, hour by hour, October's bright blue weather. O sun and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together, Love loveth best of all the year October's bright blue weather. , — Helen Hunt Jackson. 208 NATURE IN VERSE. OCTOBER'S PARTY. OCTOBER gave a party; The leaves by hundreds came, The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples, And leaves of every name. The sunshine spread a carpet, And everything was grand ; Miss Weather led the dancing, Professor Wind the band. The Chestnuts came in yellow, The Oaks in crimson dressed, The lovely Misses Maple In scarlet looked their best. All balanced to their partners And gaily fluttered by ; The sight was like a rainbow New fallen from the sky. Then in the rustic hollow At hide-and-seek they played ; The party closed at sundown And everybody stayed. Professor Wind played louder; They flew along the ground, And then the party ended In hands across, all round. — Song Stories for Little Folk. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 209 LITTLE BY LITTLE. WHILE the new years come, and the old years go, How, little by little, all things grow ! All things grow, and all decay — Little by little passing away. Little by little, on fertile plain, Ripen the harvests of golden grain, Waving and flashing in the sun When the summer at last is done. Low on the ground an acorn lies — Little by little it mounts the skies, Shadow and shelter for wandering herds, Home for a hundred singing birds. Little by little the great rocks grew, Long, long ago, when the world was new ; Slowly and silently, stately and free, Cities of coral under the sea Little by little are builded, while so The new years come and the old years go. Little by little all tasks are done ; So are the crowns of the faithful won, So is heaven in our hearts begun. With work and with weeping, with laughter and play, Little by little, the longest day And the longest life are passing away — Passing without return, while so The new years come and the old years go. — Selected. 210 NATURE IN VERSE. A CHANCE. " /^~^ IVE me a chance," an acorn said, VJT " And I'll grow to a mighty tree, And then, perchance, on a summer's day, In my shadow I'll shelter thee." "Give me a chance," said the rose-bush small, " And I'll bloom with a beauty rare, And out of my heart in its gratitude For you I will scent the air." " Give me a chance," said a bobolink, "And I'll sing you a merry song, That will throb in your heart like a bit of heaven Throughout your whole life long." " Give me a chance," said a little child, " And I'll touch that heart of thine, And thou wilt feel as once thou felt When the world was all divine." — Selected. >^< THE CHESTNUT BURR A WEE little nut lay deep in its nest Of satin and brown, the softest and best, And slept and grew while its cradle rocked, As it hung in the boughs that interlocked. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 211 Now the house was small where the cradle lay, As it swung in the winds by night and day ; For a thicket of underbrush fenced it round, This lone little cot, by the great sun browned. This little nut grew, and erelong it found There was work outside on the soft green ground ; It must do its part, so the world might know It had tried one little seed to sow. And soon the house that had kept it warm Was tossed about by the autumn storm, The stem was cracked, the old house fell, And the chestnut burr was an empty shell. But the little tree, as it waiting lay, Dreamed a wonderful dream one day, Of how it should break its coat of brown, And live as a tree, to grow up and down. — Selected. NUTTING. COME, Robert and Harry, come, Lily and May! October is here, and our glad holiday. With every breath of the keen, frosty breeze, Brown chestnuts are dropping from all the high trees. Come here with your bags and your big baskets, quick, And Harry's new jack-knife shall cut a long stick. Then Robert shall climb the old chestnut-tree tall, And thrash the big boughs till the ripe chestnuts fall. 212 NATURE IN VERSE. So shiny and smooth, and so plump and so brown, The handsomest chestnuts that ever fell down ; Though stately and proud the old nut tree has stood A hundred long years — the king of the wood. You dear little squirrel, you look very wise, With long bushy tail and bright, shiny, black eyes. Pray, sir, do you fancy you own the big tree ? It's quite a mistake, sir, between you and me. We don't mean to rob you, dear, not in the least, But we too like chestnuts, and long for a feast ; We know you must gather your snug winter store, But after we go you will find plenty more. — Selected. LITTLE NUT PEOPLE. OLD Mistress Chestnut once lived in a burr, Padded and lined with the softest of fur. Jack Frost split it wide with his keen silver knife, And tumbled her out at the risk of her life. Here is Don Almond, a grandee from Spain, Some raisins from Malaga came in his train ; He has a twin brother a shade or two leaner, When both come together we shout " Philopena ! " This is Sir Walnut ; he's English, you know, A friend of my Lady and Lord So-and-So. Whenever you ask old Sir Walnut to dinner, Be sure and have wine for the gouty old sinner. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 213 Little Miss Peanut, from North Carolina, She's not 'ristocratic but no nut is finer. Sometimes she is roasted and burnt to a cinder, In Georgia they call her Miss Goober, or Pinder. Little Miss Hazelnut, in her best bonnet, Is lovely enough to be put in a sonnet ; And young Mr. Filbert has journeyed from Kent, To ask her to marry him soon after Lent. This is old Hickory ; look at him well, A general was named for him, so I've heard tell. Take care how you hit him. He sometimes hits back! This stolid old chap is a hard nut to crack. Old Mr. Butternut just from Brazil, Is rugged and rough as the side of a hill ; But, like many a countenance quite as ill-favored, His covers a kernel deliciously flavored. Here is a Southerner, graceful and slim, In flavor no nut is quite equal to him. Ha, Monsieur Pecan, you know what it means, To be served with black coffee in French New Orleans. Dear little Chinquapin, modest and neat, Isn't she cunning and isn't she sweet ? Her skin is as smooth as a little boy's chin, And the squirrels all chatter of Miss Chinquapin. And now, my dear children, "I'm sure I have told All the queer rhymes that a nutshell can hold. — E. J. Nicholson — St. Nicholas. 214 NATURE IN VERSE. THE GOSSIP OF THE NUTS. SAID the Shagbark to the Chestnut, " Is it time to leave the burr ? " " I don't know," replied the Chestnut, "There's Hazelnut — ask her. " I don't dare to pop my nose out, Till Jack Frost unlocks the door, Besides, I'm in no hurry- To increase the squirrels' store. " A telegram from Peanut says That she is on the way ; And the Pecan Nuts are ripening, In Texas, so they say." Just here the little Beechnut, In his three-cornered hat, Remarked in tiny piping voice : " I'm glad to hear of that ; " For then my charming cousin So very much like me, Miss Chinquapin will come with them, And happy I shall be." Then Butternut spoke up and said : " 'Twill not be long before I'll have to move my quarters To the farmer's garret floor; "With Hickory and Walnut, Good company I'll keep, And there, until Thanksgiving, Together we shall sleep." SONGS OF AUTUMN. 215 Said the Shagbark : " I am tired Of being cooped up here ; I want to go to see the world ; Pray, what is there to fear ? " I'll stay up here no longer ; I'll just go pouncing down. So good-bye, Sister Chestnut ! We'll meet again in town." — Selected. £©4c THE SQUIRREL'S ARITHMETIC. HIGH on the branch of a walnut-tree A bright-eyed squirrel sat. What was he thinking so earnestly ? And what was he looking at ? The forest was green around him, The sky all over his head ; His nest was in a hollow limb, And his children snug in bed. He was doing a problem o'er and o'er, Busily thinking was he ; How many* nuts for this winter's store Could he hide in the hollow tree ? He sat so still on the swaying bough You might have thought him asleep. Oh, no ; he was trying to reckon now The nuts the babies could eat. 216 NATURE IN VERSE. Then suddenly he frisked about, And down the tree he ran. " The best way to do, without a doubt, Is to gather all I can." :>^c Selected. TIME ENOUGH. TWO little squirrels out in the sun, One gathered nuts, the other had none; "Time enough yet," his constant refrain, " Summer is only just on the wane." Listen, my child, while I tell you his fate : He roused him at last, but he roused him too late; Down fell the snow from the pitiless cloud, And gave little squirrel a spotless white shroud. Two little boys in a school-room were placed, One always perfect, the other disgraced ; "Time enough yet for my learning," he said, " I'll climb by and by from the foot to the head." Listen, my darling : Their locks have turned gray, One as a governor is sitting to-day ; The other, a pauper, looks out at, the door Of the almshouse, and idles his days as of yore. Two kinds of people we meet every day ; One is at work, the other at play, — Living uncared for, dying unknown — The business hive hath ever a drone. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 217 Tell me, my child, if the squirrels have taught The lesson I long to impart in your thought ; Answer me this, and my story is done, Which of the two would you be, little one ? — Selected. ?:**:< PLANT SONG. " f~~\ WHERE do you come from, berries red, V^ Nuts, apples and plums, that hang ripe overhead, Sweet, juicy grapes, with your rich purple hue, Saying, ' Pick us, and eat us ; we're growing for you ? ' " O where do you come from, bright flowers and fair, That please with your colors and fragrance so rare, Glowing in sunshine, or sparkling with dew ? " " We are blooming for dear little children like you ; " Our roots are our mouths, taking food from the ground, Our leaves are our lungs, breathing air all around, Our sap, like your blood, our veins courses through, Don't you think, little children, we're somewhat like you ? " Your hearts are the soil, your thoughts are the seeds ; Your lives may become useful plants or foul weeds ; If you think but good thoughts, your lives will be true, For good women and men were once children like you." — Nellie M. Brown. 218 NATURE IN VERSE. HITHER, MEADOW GOSSIP, TELL ME! (to a bee.) HITHER, meadow gossip, tell me, Will you never pause to rest ? From the gray of dawn I've watched you, Till the sun has burned the west ; Seen you whisper to the gentian What you heard upon the wheat ; And the flowers nod in laughter At the stories you repeat. Long and vainly have I listened To discover what you said, What you murmured to the daisies, To the clovers white and red ; And I saw you, after prowling Where the columbines were hid, Set the apple blossoms blushing — Yes, you shocking wretch, you did ! Buttercups and dandelions Show you yellow heaps of gold, Just to hearken to your chatter And the scandals you unfold; Even Jack within his pulpit, Priestly rascal, likes to hear Things about his congregation That should hurt a saintly ear. And lest any of your items Through the day should be forgot, I believe you always write them On the dim forget-me-not. SONGS OF A UTUMN. 219 If I trust you with a secret Far more precious, little bee, Will you tell me on the morrow If my sweetheart thinks of me ! Gentle tattler, I must love you, Though you have a meddling way ; And I would that human gossips Had the wisdom you display, And could, leaving all their slanders And the meanness they must meet, Journey homeward in the gloaming Bringing only what is sweet. — H. Prescott Beach — New England Magazine. 3>^C MAUDE AND THE CRICKET. GOOD-NIGHT, dear Maudie," I softly said, And tucked her in her little bed. " Good-night, mamma," she said to me, " I am just as sleepy as I can be." But scarcely closed was the chamber door, When her eager voice called out once more : " Mamma," she said, "what is it I hear — That strange little noise, so sharp and queer?" I listened, — then told her all was still, Save a merry cricket piping shrill ; " He is hidden in the closet here, To sing you to sleep, my Maudie dear.' 220 NATURE IN VERSE. Then Maudie sat up in her night-dress white, And her eyes grew big and round and bright. " Now, dear mamma, please move my bed Close up to the closet door," she said. " Poor little fellow ! He wants to speak. And all he can say is - Creak, creak, creak ! ' I wish to tell him I hear his song, And ask him to sing it all night long." " I'll leave the door open," I said, " part way, So the cricket can hear whatever you say ; Now, while I go to your baby brother, You little crickets may sing to each other." When soon again I crept up the stair, And stood for a moment listening there, Over the household was silence deep — Maud and the cricket were both asleep. When "sleepy time" came for Maude next night, She rushed around like a fairy white ; Peeped into the closet and over the floor, To find the little cricket once more. He was not to be seen in any place, So Maude lay down with a mournful face; When under her crib a voice piped clear — " Creak, creakety, creak ! I'm here, I'm here ! " Then Maudie screamed with surprised delight ; And she always believed from that very night, That crickets can hear when little girls speak, And mean a great deal by their " Creak, creak, creak ! — Selected. SONGS OF AUTUMN 221 THE CRICKET. LITTLE inmate, full of mirth, Chirping on my kitchen hearth, Wheresoe'er be thine abode, Always harbinger of good, Pay me for thy warm retreat With a song more soft and sweet; In return thou shalt receive Such a strain as I can give. Neither night nor dawn of day Puts a period to thy play ! Sing then and extend thy span Far beyond the date of man. Wretched man, whose years are spent In repining discontent, Lives not, aged though he be, Half a span, compared with thee. — William Cow per. THE FROG'S GOOD-BYE. f^\ OOD-BYE, little children, I'm going away, ^-^ In my snug little home all winter to stay. I seldom get up, once I'm tucked in my bed, And as it grows colder I cover my head. I sleep very quietly all winter through, And really enjoy it; there's nothing to do, The flies are all gone, so there's nothing to eat, And I take this time to enjoy a good sleep. 222 NATURE IN VERSE. My bed is a nice little hole in the ground, Where snug as a bug in the winter I'm found. You might think long fasting would make me grow thin, But no ! I stay plump as when I go in. And now, little children, good-bye, one and all, Some warm day next spring I shall give you a call ; I'm quite sure to know when to get out of bed, — When I feel the warm sun shining down on my head. — Selected. >*Kc THE SHINING WEB. A HUNGRY spider made a web Of thread so very fine, Your tiny fingers scarce could feel The little slender line. Round about and round about, And round about it spun ; Straight across and back again, Until the web was done. O what a pretty, shining web It was when it was done ! The little flies all came to see It hanging in the sun. Round about and round about, And round about they danced ; Across the web and back again, They darted and they glanced. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 223 The hungry spider sat and watched The happy little flies ; It saw all round about its head — It had so many eyes. Round about and round about, And round about they go ; Across the web and back again, Now high again, now low. " I am hungry, very hungry," Said the spider to the fly ; " If you would come into my house, We'd eat some, you and I." But round about and round about, And round about once more ; Across the web and back again, They flitted as before. For all the flies were much too wise To venture near the spider ; They flapped their little wings and flew In circles rather wider. Round about and round about, And round about went they ; Across the web and back again, And then they flew away. — Selected. THE WANDERINGS OF THE BIRDS. AUTUMN has come, so bare and gray, The woods are brown and red, The flowers all have passed away, The forest leaves are dead. 224 NATURE IN VERSE. The little birds at morning dawn, Clothed in warm coats of feather, Conclude that they away will roam, To seek for milder weather. The robin gives his last sweet strain, His mate responding, follows ; And then away they lead the train Of bluebirds, wrens, and swallows. The cuckoo, thrush, and yellowbird, The wild goose, teal, and sparrow, Martin, and chippy, all are heard To sing their parting carol. The oriole hastens in his flight, The swallow skims the water ; The whip-poor-will and bobby white Join in the blackbirds' chatter. Tribe after tribe with leaders fair, All spread their wings for flight. Away, away, high in the air ; Nor care for day and night. The fig-tree and the orange bowers, They soon will find so sweet; The sunny clime of fruits and flowers They with warm hearts will greet. But when the voice of spring they hear, They'll sing their " chick-a-dee," And back they'll come our hearts to cheer, "Tu-whit, tu-whit, tu-whee." — Songs for Little Ones at Home. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 225 THE SPARROW'S NEST. NAY, only look what I have found ! A sparrow's nest upon the ground ; A sparrow's nest, as you may see, Blown out of yonder old elm-tree. And what a medley thing it is ! I never saw a nest like this, So neatly wove with decent care, Of silvery moss and shining hair. But put together, odds and ends, Picked up from enemies and friends ; See, bits of thread, and bits of rag, Just like a little rubbish bag ! See, hair of dog and fur of cat, And rovings of a worsted mat, And shreds of silks, and many a feather Compacted cunningly together. Well, here has hoarding been and living, And not a little good contriving, Before a home of peace and ease Was fashioned out of things like these ! [ & k Think, had these odds and ends been brought To some wise man renowned for thought, Some man, of men the very gem, Pray, what could he have done with them ? If we had said : " Here, sir, we bring You many a worthless little thing, Just bits and scraps, so very small That they have scarcely size at all ; Q 226 NATURE IN VERSE. And out of these, you must contrive A dwelling large enough for five ; Neat, warm, and snug ; with comfort stored ; Where five small things may lodge and board.' How would the man of learning vast Have been astonished and aghast, And vowed that such a thing had been Ne'er heard of, thought of, much less seen ! Ah ! man of learning, you are wrong ; Instinct is, more than wisdom, strong ; And He who made the sparrow, taught This skill beyond your reach of thought. And here in this uncostly nest, These little creatures have been blest ; Nor have kings known in palaces Half their contentedness in this — Poor simple dwelling as it is ! — Mary Howitt. THE WILD RABBITS. AMONG the sand-hills, Near by the sea, Wild young rabbits Were seen by me. They live in burrows With winding ways, And there they shelter On rainy days. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 227 The mother rabbits Make cosy nests, With hairy linings From their breasts. The tender young ones Are nursed and fed, And safely hidden In this warm bed. And when they are older) They all come out Upon the sand-hills, And frisk about. They play, and nibble The long, dry grass, But scamper away Whenever you pass. — Selected. >**c CORN. THERE is a plant you often see In gardens and in fields ; Its stalk is straight, its leaves are long, And precious fruit it yields. The fruit, when young, is soft and white, And closely wrapped in green, And tassels hang from every ear, Which children love to glean. 228 NATURE IN VERSE. But when the tassels fade away The fruit is ripe and old ; It peeps from out the wrapping dry, Like beads of yellow gold. The fruit, when young, we boil and roast, When old, we grind it well. Now, think of all the plants you know, And try its name to tell. — Selected. >XKc A LESSON. ACORN-STALK glanced down at some grasses, And said in an arrogant tone, " I wish that my fawning relations Would move off and leave me alone. "Just see how they mix with the clovers, And nod at their red and white crests ; And even the poor silly daisies They're ready to welcome as guests ! " No wonder each morn when they waken, Their eyelids are heavy with tears, Through envy of my rustling raiment, And the gold drops that shine in my ears. " 'Tis true, we've a common venation ; But that need not addle their brains ; They're born to a lowly position, There's no blood of mine in their veins." SONGS OF AUTUMN. 229 With that she threw back her silk tassels, And left them to wave in the breeze, Nor took farther note of the grasses That timidly crouched at her knees. In autumn a reaper discovered The corn-husk all withered and dried, So he stripped off her bright golden ear-drops And ruthlessly cast her aside ; And when the next spring's glowing sunshine Caused Nature her white robe to doff, And the earth showed a few snowy patches, Like a cake with the frosting picked off ; I said of the pale, slender fingers That the roots of the grasses sent forth, " Ah, surely, the proud are made stubble, And the meek shall inherit the earth ! " — Selected. >>©>*;< TWO WISE OWLS. WE are two dusky owls, and we live in a tree ; Look at her, — look at me ! Look at her, — she's my mate, and the mother of three Pretty owlets, and we Have a warm cosy nest, just as snug as can be. We are both very wise ; for our heads, as you see, (Look at her, — look at me !) Are as large as the heads of four birds ought to be, And our horns, you'll agree, Make us look wiser still, sitting here on the tree. Far away in the valley, a mile it may be, Is a churchyard, and we SONGS OF AUTUMN. 233 Often sit there at midnight, and hoot in high glee. Does that owl look like me ? For the bird in the air is my mate, as you see. And we care not how gloomy the night-time may be ; We can see, — we can see Through the forest to roam, — it suits her, it suits me ; And we're free, — we are free To bring back what we find, to our nest in the tree. — Selected. **;c TOM. YES, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew, Just listen to this : — When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through, And I with it, helpless, — there, full in my view, What do you think my eyes saw through the fire That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher, But Robin, my baby boy, laughing to see The shining ? He must have come there after me. Toddled alone from the cottage without Any one's missing him. Then what a shout — Oh ! how I shouted, " For Heaven's sake, men, Save little Robin ! " Again and again They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall, I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call, " Never mind, baby, sit still like a man ! We're coming to get you as fast as we can." They could not see him, but I could ; he sat Still on a beam, his little straw hat 234 NATURE IN VERSE. Carefully placed by his side ; and his eyes Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise, Calm and unconscious, as nearer it crept ; The roar of the fire up above must have kept From reaching the child. But I heard it. It came, Again and again. O God, what a cry ! The axes went faster ; I saw the sparks fly Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat That scorched them, — when suddenly, there at their feet. The great beam leaned in — they saw him — then, crash, Down came the wall ! The men made a dash, — Jumped to get out of the way, — and I thought " All's up with poor little Robin ! " and brought Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide The sight of the child there, — when swift at my side Some one rushed by, and went right through the flame, Straight as a dart, — caught the child and then came Back with him, choking and crying, but — saved! Saved safe and sound ! Oh, how the men raved, Shouted and cried, and hurrahed ! Then they all Rushed at the work again, lest the back wall, Where I was lying away from the fire, Should fall in and bury me. Oh ! you'd admire To see Robin now ; he's as bright as a dime, Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time ; Tom, it was, saved him. Now, isn't it true Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew ? There's Robin now ! See, he's strong as a log ! And there comes Tom, too — Yes, Tom was our dog. — Constance Fenimore Woolson. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 235 THE RAINY DAY. THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; The vine still clings to the moldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; My thoughts still cling to the moldering past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days must be dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. — Henry Wadsworth Longfelloiv. NOVEMBER. THE leaves are fading and falling, The winds are rough and wild, The birds have ceased their calling, But let me tell you, my child, Though day by day, as it closes, Doth darker and colder grow, The roots of the bright red roses Will keep alive in the snow. 236 NATURE IN VERSE. And when the winter is over, The boughs will get new leaves ; The quail come back to the clover, And the swallow back to the eaves. The robin will wear on his bosom A vest that is bright and new, And the loveliest wayside blossom Will shine with the sun and dew. The leaves, to-day, are whirling, The brooks are all dry and dumb ; But let me tell you, my darling, The spring will be sure to come. There must be rough, cold weather, And winds and rains so wild; Not all good things together Come to us here, my child. So, when some dear joy loses Its beauteous summer glow, Think how the roots of the roses Are kept alive in the snow. — Alice Cary. >XK< THANKSGIVING DAY. VER the river and through the wood, To grandfather's house we'll go ; The horse knows the way To carry the sleigh Through the white and drifted snow. o SONGS OF AUTUMN. 237 Over the river and through the wood, — Oh, how the wind does blow ! It stings the toes, And bites the nose As over the ground we go. Over the river and through the wood, To have a first-rate play, Hear the bells ring " Ting-a-ling-ding ! " Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day ! Over the river and through the wood Trot fast, my dapple gray ! Spring over the ground Like a hunting hound ! For this is Thanksgiving Day. Over the river and through the wood, And straight through the barn-yard gate ; We seem to go Extremely slow ; It is so hard to wait ! Over the river and through the wood, Now grandmother's cap I spy ! Hurrah for the fun ! Is the pudding done ? Hurrah for the pumpkin pie ! — Lydia Maria Child. t 238 NATURE IN VERSE. THE RACCOON. COME, child, and see our pet raccoon, — The raccoons live in the woods, you know, But ours was caught And caged, and brought From, old Virginia, long ago. Oh, no, you need not be afraid ; See, he is fastened with a chain ; For ropes enough He has gnawed off, And he is hard to catch again. He e'en will climb this ten-foot fence, And, careless where his feet may strike, He tumbles, bang ! And there will hang, His rope being caught by vine or spike. So now he's chained ; yet up he'll climb The stake to which he's fastened tight, And mutter low, So pleading, Oh ! 'Twould make you sorry for him, quite. Just see his nose, so pointed, sharp, — His ears as keen as keen can be, — His eyes so bright, So full of light, And see him leap right merrily ! SONGS OF AUTUMN. 239 His fur, you see, is yellowish gray, — And he is nearly two feet long ; He lives on roots, And nuts and fruits, When he's his native woods among. But here we give him bread and milk ; He never eats like dogs or lambs, But takes it up From out the cup With his fore feet, as we use hands. You'd laugh to see him, I am sure ; Of strawberries, too, he's very fond ; Will poke around Till he has found Each one among the hulls out-thrown. — Mother Truth's Melodies. >>K< THE ANT AN ENGINEER. THE pastry was delicious, and I wanted it myself, So I put it in the pantry on the very lowest shelf ; And to keep it from the insects, those ants so red and small, I made a river round it of molasses, best of all. But the enemy approached it, all as hungry as could be, And the captain, with his aide-de-camp, just skirmished round to see 240 NATURE IN VERSE. Whether they could ford the river or should try some other plan, And, together with his comrades, he around the liquid ran. I*o his joy and satisfaction, after traveling around, The place where the molasses was the narrowest he found ; Then again he reconnoitered, rushing forward and then back, Till he spied some loosened plaster in the wall around a tack. He divided then his forces, with a foreman for each squad, And he marshaled the whole army and before him each ant trod ; His directions all were given ; to his chiefs he gave a call, While he headed the procession as they marched off up the wall. Every ant then seized his plaster, just a speck and nothing more, And he climbed and tugged and carried till he'd brought it to the shore ; Then they built their bridge, just working for an hour by the sky, After which they all marched over and all fell to eating pie. — Selected. THE DAY IS DONE. THE day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 241 I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist : A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor ; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start ; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard from his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. 242 NATURE IN VERSE. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. :>^c THE SETTING SUN. DEAR John, the sun is setting now; Behold him in the west ; And all the children now must soon Lie down and go to rest. In other countries far away, The day begins to break, And many a child and many a bird Will soon be wide awake. But when the sun comes round again, And rises in our east, Then evening will begin with them, And they to bed will haste. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 243 How very good in God it is, To make the sun to go All round this great, wide world of ours, To light each country so. — Selected. **:« AT SUNSET. SUNSET glories are smiling down ; Blue and crimson and golden brown. Full many a twittering note is heard ; The good-night carol of many a bird. The flowers are glad at sunset time, The yellow aster and fragrant thyme ; The purple pansy lifts its head, Its petals half-dropping and withered and dead. Baby laughs at the colors red And gray and purple, and shakes her head. " Just right for a dress, mamma, don't you see ? It's plenty enough for you and me." Grandpa sits in the twilight gray, His locks are white as the moonbeam's ray, His brow is furrowed with age and care, His smile is sweet as angels wear. Grandpa and baby watch together The flowers and sunset and starry weather. The one, for a glorious harvest meet ; The other, like sunbeam at his feet. 244 NATURE IN VERSE. We are all children, scarce can tell Of the wonderful things we love so well ; Even the aged, with locks like snow, God gave them to us, is all we know. After the sunset the stars shine down Where once was crimson and blue and brown ; The full-orbed moon in silvery white, — And dusky shadows are clothed in light. Beyond earth's sunset glories fair Lies a golden daylight, deep and rare. And, listen ! — through its hush, are heard, Sweetest of carols from twittering bird. —Mattie A. W. Clark. 0>K< TWINKLE, TWINKLE. TWINKLE, twinkle, little star, Up above the world so far, Whisper now and tell me, pray, What you are, and how you stay." " Some of us away so far, Planets like your own earth are, And we shine with borrowed light, Borrowed from the sun so bright ; " Some of us are silvery moons, Shining all the nightly noons ; Some of us are jelly soft, Shooting, falling, from aloft ; SONGS OF AUTUMN. 24S " Some of us are nebulae, — Faint and misty stars we be ; Some are suns to other worlds ; Here and there a comet whirls; " Having each our time and place, Swinging in the wondrous space ; Held in line by Him who planned, And who holds you in His hand." — Mother Truth 's Melodies. >^c THE NEW MOON. DEAR mother, how pretty The moon looks to-night ! She was never so cunning before ; Her two little horns Are so sharp and bright, I hope she'll not grow any more. If I were up there, With you and my friends, I'd rock in it nicely, you'd see ; I'd sit in the middle And hold by both ends ; Oh, what a bright cradle 'twould be ! I would call to the stars To keep out of the way, Lest we should rock over their toes ; And then I would rock Till the dawn of the day, And see where the pretty moon goes. 246 NATURE IN VERSE. And there we would stay In the beautiful skies ; And through the bright clouds we would roam. We would see the sun set, And see the sun rise, And on the next rainbow come home. — Mrs. Follen. A NAUGHTY LITTLE COMET. THERE was a little comet who lived near the Milky Way; She loved to wander out at night, and jump about and play. The mother of the comet was a very good old star ; She used to scold her reckless child for venturing out too far. She told her of the ogre Sun, who loved on stars to sup, And who asked no better pastime than gobbling comets up. But instead of growing cautious, and of showing proper fear, The foolish little comet edged up nearer and more near. She switched her saucy trail along right where the sun could see, And flirted with old Mars, and was as bold as bold could be. She laughed to scorn the quiet stars who never frisked about ; She said there was no fun in life unless you ventured out. SONGS OF AUTUMN. 247 She liked to make the planets stare, and wished no better mirth Than just to see the telescopes aimed at her from the Earth. She wondered how so many stars could mope through nights and days, And let the sickly-faced old Moon get all the love and praise. And as she talked and tossed her head and switched her shining trail, The staid old mother-star grew sad, her cheek grew wan and pale ; For she had lived there in the skies a million years or more, And she had heard gay comets talk in just this way before. And by and by there came an end to this gay comet's fun ; She went a tiny bit too far, and vanished in the Sun ! But quiet stars she laughed to scorn are twinkling every night. No more she swings her shining trail before the whole world's sight. — Ella Wheeler Wilcox. NORSE LULLABY. THE sky is dark and the hills are white, As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night; And this is the song the storm-king sings, As over the world his cloak he flings : 248 NATURE IN VERSE. " Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep ; " He rustles his wings, and gruffly sings : " Sleep, little one, sleep." On yonder mountain-side a vine Clings at the foot of a mother pine ; The tree bends over the trembling thing And only the vine can hear her sing : " Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep ; What shall you fear when I am here ? Sleep, little one, sleep." The king may sing in his bitter flight, The tree may croon to the vine to-night, But the little snowflake at my breast Liketh the song I sing the best, — Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep ; Weary thou art, anext my heart ; Sleep, little one, sleep. — Eugene Field — A Little Book of Western Verse. >XK< "HO, FOR SLUMBERLAND!" A LITTLE song for bedtime, when, robed in gowns of white, All sleepy little children set sail across the night For that pleasant, pleasant country, where the pretty dream-flowers blow, 'Twixt the sunset and" the sunrise, — " For the Slumber Islands, ho ! " SONGS OF AUTUMN. 249 When the little ones get drowsy, and heavy lids droop down To hide blue eyes and black eyes, gray eyes, and eyes of brown, A thousand boats for Dreamland are waiting in a row, And the ferrymen are calling, " For the Slumber Islands, ho ! " Then the sleepy little children fill the boats along the shore, And go sailing off to Dreamland ; and the dipping of the oar In the sea of Sleep makes music that the children only know When they answer to the boatmen's " For the Slumber Islands, ho ! " Oh ! take a kiss, my darlings, ere you sail away from me In the boat of dreams that's waiting to bear you o'er the sea; Take a kiss, and give one, and then away you go, A-sailing into Dreamland, — " For the Slumber Islands, ho! " — Eben E. Rexford — St. Nicholas. >**c CAN YOU COUNT THE STARS? CAN you count the stars that brightly Twinkle in the midnight sky ? Can you count the clouds, so lightly O'er the meadows floating by ? 250 NATURE IN VERSE. God the Lord doth mark their number With his eyes that never slumber. He hath made them, ev'ry one. Do you know how many children Rise each morning, blithe and gay ? Can you count the little voices, Singing sweetly, day by day ? God hears all the little voices, In their pretty songs rejoices, He doth love them, ev'ry one. Selected. SONGS OF WINTER. We haven't a nest, Nor a place of rest, Save this oak-tree bending down. IP^I ^g^^r^ Ml f)M\W3^/ OS WM SKr^l^ fifil© >^>*« WHAT THE WINDS BRING. WHICH is the wind that brings the cold ? " " The north wind, Freddy, and all the snow, And the sheep will scamper into the fold When the north begins to blow." 256 NATURE IN VERSE. " Which is the wind that brings the heat ? " " The south wind, Katy ; and corn will grow, And peaches redden for you to eat, When the south begins to blow." " Which is the wind that brings the rain ? " " The east wind, Arty ; and farmers know That cows come shivering up the lane, When the east begins to blow." " Which is the wind that brings the flowers ? " " The west wind, Bessy ; and soft and low The birdies sing in the summer hours, When the west begins to blow." — E. C. Stedman. ■*&^ THE FOG. WHAT is the fog, mamma ? " " Sometimes the air is light, And cannot bear up all the mists, And then 'tis foggy, quite ; But when air heavier grows, The fog is borne above, And floated off, the cloudy stuff, Just see it, graceful, move." — Mother Truth's Melodies. SONGS OF WINTER. 257 THE RAIN. "TTTHAT makes the rain, mamma?" * » " The mists and vapor rise From land and stream and rolling sea, Up toward the distant skies ; And there they form the clouds, Which, when they're watery, dear, Pour all the water down to earth, And rain afar or near." — Mother Truth'' s Melodies. >x^< THE LITTLE ARTIST. OH, there is a little artist Who paints in the cold night hours Pictures for wee, wee children, Of wondrous trees and flowers, — Pictures of snow-capped mountains Touching the snow-white sky ; Pictures of distant oceans, Where pygmy ships sail by ; Pictures of rushing rivers, By fairy bridges spanned ; Bits of beautiful landscapes, Copied from elfin land. 258 NATURE IN VERSE. The moon is the lamp he paints by, His canvas the window-pane, His brush is a frozen snowflake ; Jack Frost is the artist's name. — Selected. 3XKC JACK FROST. "POME one has been in the garden, ^-^ Nipping the flowers so fair ; All the green leaves are withered ; Now, who do you think has been there ? " Some one has been in the forest, Cracking the chestnut burrs ; Who is it dropping the chestnuts, Whenever a light wind stirs ? " Some one has been on the hilltop, Chipping the moss-covered rocks ; Who has been cracking and breaking Them into fragments and blocks ? " Some one has been at the windows, Marking on every pane ; Who made those glittering pictures Of lace-work, fir-trees, and grain? " Some one is all the time working Out on the pond so blue, Bridging it over with crystal ; Who is it, now? Can you tell who? SONGS OF WINTER. 259 " While his good bridge he is building, We will keep guard at the gate ; And when he has it all finished, Hurrah for the boys that can skate ! " Let him work on : we are ready ; Not much for our fun does it cost ! Three cheers for the bridge he is making! And three, with a will, for Jack Frost ! " — Selected. >x*<< FROST PICTURES. PICTURES on the window, Painted by Jack Frost, Coming at the midnight, With the noon are lost ; Here a row of fir-trees, Standing straight and tall; There a rapid river, And a waterfall. Here a branch of coral From the briny sea ; There a weary traveler Resting 'neath a tree ; Here a grand old iceberg, Floating slowly on ; There a mighty forest Of the torrid zone. 260 NATURE IN VERSE. Here a swamp, all tangled, — Rushes, ferns, and brake ; There a rugged mountain, Here a little lake. Then a breath, the lightest Floating in the air, Jack Frost catches quickly, And imprints it there. And thus you are painting, Little children, too, On your life's fair window Always something new ; But your little pictures Will not pass away Like those Jack Frost's fingers Paint each winter day. Each kind word or action Is a picture bright; Every duty mastered Is lovely in the light; But each thought of anger, Every word of strife, Blemishes the picture, Stains the glass of life. Then be very careful, Every day and hour, Lest unseemly touches Trace your window o'er ; Let the lines be always Made by kindness bright, — Paint your glass with pictures Of the true and right. — Selected. SONGS OF WINTER. 261 THE FROST. THE Frost looked forth one still, clear night, And whispered, " Now I shall be out of sight; So through the valley and over the height, In silence I'll take my way ; I will not go on like that blustering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, Who makes so much bustle and noise in vain, But I'll be as busy as they ! " Then he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest ; He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest In diamond beads ; and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear The downward point of many a spear, That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock could rear its head. He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane like a fairy crept ; Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, By the light of the morn were seen Most beautiful things ; there were flowers and trees ; There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees ; There were cities with temples and towers ; and these All pictured in silver sheen ! But he did one thing that was hardly fair, — He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there That all had forgotten for him to prepare, " Now, just to set them a-thinking, 262 NATURE IN VERSE. I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he, " This costly pitcher I'll burst in three ; And the glass of water they've left for me Shall ' tchick ! ' to tell them I'm drinking ! " — Hannah F. Gould. >**:< LITTLE SNOWFLAKES. THE snowflakes fall so gently, You ne'er can hear a sound, As sailing through the frosty air They nestle on the ground. They form a carpet, soft and white, For merry little feet, While cheeks grow round and rosy, And laughter is so sweet. Some children are like snowflakes, — Their step is light and low, And when they walk from place to place, You ne'er can hear them go. Oh, let us be like snowflakes, So soft and pure and bright, And when God looks into our souls, He'll see a pleasing sight. —M.M. H SONGS OF WINTER. 263 HELP ONE ANOTHER. " TTELP one another," the snowflakes said, i- J- As they cuddled down in their fleecy bed. " One of us here would not be felt, One of us here would quickly melt ; But I'll help you, and you help me, And then what a splendid drift there'll be." " Help one another," the maple spray Said to .its fellow-leaves one day ; " The sun would wither me here alone, Long enough ere the day is gone ; But I'll help you, and you help me, And then what a splendid shade there'll be." " Help one another," the dewdrop cried, Seeing another drop close to its side ; " The warm south wind would dry me away, And I should be gone ere noon to-day ; But I'll help you, and you help me, And we'll make a brook and run to the sea." " Help one another," a grain of sand Said to another grain close at hand ; " The wind may carry me over the sea, And then, oh, what will become of me ? But come, my brother, give me your hand, We'll build a mountain and then we'll stand." And so the snowflakes grew to drifts ; The grains of sand to a mountain ; The leaves became a summer shade ; The dewdrops fed a fountain. — Selected. 264 NATURE IN VERSE. LITTLE SNOWFLAKES. Selected. STILL and gentle all around, Little snowflakes, soft and light One by one spread o'er the ground, Making it a fleecy white. As we watch these little flakes, Falling down so small and light, Who would think so few it takes Thus to form this robe of white ? Just like them are duties done, Still and gentle, every hour ; Smallest deeds, we early learn, Give to life its greatest power. >>k< THE FIRST SNOW. THE north wind doth blow, and we shall have snow, And what will poor robin do then, poor thing ? He'll sit in the barn and keep himself warm, And hide his head under his wing, poor thing. The north wind doth blow, and we shall have^snow, And what will the honey bee do, poor thing ? In his hive he will stay till the cold's passed away, And then he'll come out in the spring, poor thing. SONGS OF WINTER. 265 The north wind doth blow, and we shall have snow, And what will the dormouse do then, poor thing ? Rolled up like a ball in his nest, snug and small, He'll sleep till warm weather comes back, poor thing. The north wind doth blow, and we shall have snow, And what will the children do then, poor things ? When lessons are done they'll jump, skip, and run, And that's how they'll keep themselves warm, poor things. — Selected. THE SNOW-SHOWER. " PEE, mamma, the crumbs are flying O Fast and thickly through the air ; On the branches they are lying, On the walks and everywhere. Oh, how glad the birds will be, When so many crumbs they see." " No, my little girl, 'tis snowing, Nothing for the birds is here ; Very cold the air is growing, 'Tis the winter of the year ; Frost will nip the robins' food, 'Twill no more be sweet and good. " See the clouds the skies that cover, 'Tis from them the snowflakes fall, Whitening hills and fields all over, Hanging from the fir-trees tall. Were it warm, 'twould rain ; but lo ! Frost has changed the rain to snow." 266 NATURE IN VERSE. " If the robins food are needing, Oh, I hope to me they'll come; I should like to see them feeding, On the window of my room ; I'll divide with them my store; Much I wish I could do more." — Mary Lundie Duncan. 3>0X*c THE SNOW-SHOWER. STAND here by my side and turn, I pray, On the lake below thy gentle eyes ; The clouds hang over it heavy and gray, And dark and silent the water lies ; And out of that frozen mist the snow, In wavering flakes, begins to flow ; Flake after flake, They sink in the dark and silent lake. See how in a living swarm they come From the chambers beyond that misty veil ; Some hover awhile in air, and some Rush prone from the sky like summer hail. All, dropping swiftly, or settling slow, Meet, and are still in the depths below ; Flake after flake, Dissolved in the dark and silent lake. Here delicate snow-stars, out of the cloud, Come floating downward in airy play, 268 NATURE IN VERSE. Like spangles dropped from the glistening crowd, That whiten by night the milky way ; There broader and burlier masses fall ; The sullen water buries them all — Flake after flake — All drowned in the dark and silent lake. And some, as on tender wings they glide From their chilly birth-cloud, dim and gray, Are joined in their fall, and, side by side, Come clinging along their unsteady way ; As friend with friend, or husband with wife, Makes hand in hand the passage of life ; Each mated flake Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake. Lo ! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They fling themselves from their shadowy height. The fair frail creatures of middle sky, What speed they make, with their grave so nigh; Flake after flake, To lie in the dark and silent lake ! I see in thy gentle eyes a tear ; They turn to me in sorrowful thought ; Thou thinkest of friends, the good and dear, Who were for a time, and now are not ; Like those fair children of cloud and frost, That glisten a moment and then are lost, Flake after flake — All lost in the dark and silent lake. SONGS OF WINTER. 269 Yet look again, for the clouds divide ; A gleam of blue on the water lies ; And far away, on the mountain side, A sunbeam falls from the opening skies. But the hurrying host that flew between The cloud and the water, no more is seen ; Flake after flake, At rest in the dark and silent lake. — William Cullen Bryant. J&fr THE SNOW-STORM. WE are free ! we are free ! the snowflakes cried, Hurrah ! hurrah ! away we hide. Now we're whirling, and twirling, and dancing around, And gently sinking to the ground. The jolly north wind ! how he makes us fly, And whistles the tune we are dancing by. We cover the valleys, we cover the hills, We bury the flowers and frozen rills, We're dashing out this way, and that way again, We're dashing against the window pane. Then away, away, away, away, We'll make a track for the merry sleigh; We're drifting high, ah ! ah ! here's fun For the boys and girls When school is done. Now we're whirling, and twirling, and dancing around, And gently sinking to the ground. — Selected. 270 NATURE IN VERSE. THE DISAPPOINTED SNOWFLAKES. FOUR and twenty snowflakes came tumbling from the sky, And said, " Let's make a snow drift — We can if we but try." So down they gently fluttered And lighted on the ground, And when they were all seated They sadly looked around. "We're very few indeed," sighed they, " And we sometimes make mistakes ; We cannot make a snowdrift With four and twenty flakes." Just then the sun peeped round a cloud And smiled at the array, And the disappointed snowflakes Melted quietly away. — Selected. IT SNOWS! IT SNOWS! IT snows ! yes, it snows ! and the children are wild, At thought of the fun in the snow-drifts up-piled; The boy with his first new boots is in sight, And the wee baby-girl, with her mittens so bright. They are tramping and tossing the snow as they run, And laughing and shouting, so brimful of fun ; While the ten-year-old twins, in a somersault mood, Have measured their length from the barn to the wood, A dozen times, yes, or it may be a score, Till their cheeks are as red as the roses, and more ; SONGS OF WINTER. 271 Then the elfin of twelve and the boy of fifteen Are pelting each other with snowballs so keen, That we, who are older, forget to be staid, And shout, each with each, as the youngsters, arrayed In feathery garments, press on or retreat, Determined to win, nor acknowledge defeat. But the children, at length, tired out with their play ? And stamping the snow from their feet by the way, Come slipping and stumbling and scrambling along, While the big brother catching the baby-girl's song, " Oh, my finders are told ! " gives her now a gay toss, The golden hair streaming like distaff of floss ; — And so cheery the group that is ranged round the board, That for snow, blessed snow, we all thank the good Lord. — Mother Truth's Melodies. SNOW. SNOW so fair, Snow so fair, Whirling through the wintry air ! Dropping down, Dropping down, On the busy town, Do you, white-robed fairies, say, Dance in honor of the day ? Snow so fair, Snow so fair, Dancing through the air ! Wind so cold, Wind so cold, Did you know this hero bold ? « 272 NATURE IN VERSE. Breezes strong, Breezes strong, Sweeping swift along, Do your trumpets blow for him, In the forests dark and dim ? Breezes strong, Breezes strong, Sweeping swift along. Pretty star, Pretty star, Beaming at us from afar, Smiling down, Smiling down, On the busy town, Have you lit your lamp so bright Just in honor of the night ? Pretty star, Pretty star, Beaming from afar. — A. E. C. — Popular Educator. >>©<< THE SNOW-BIRD. IN the morning light trills the gay swallow, The thrush in the roses below, The meadow-lark sings in the meadow, And the snow-bird sings in the snow. " Twee wee ! Chickadee ! " The snow-bird sings in the snow. SONGS OF WINTER. 273 The blue martin trills in the gable, The wren on the ground below, In the elm flutes the golden robin, But the snow-bird sings in the snow. " Twee wee ! Chickadee ! " The snow-bird sings in the snow. High wheels the gray wing of the osprey, The wing of the sparrow drops low, In the mist dips the wing of the robin, And the snow-bird's wing in the snow. " Twee wee ! Chickadee ! " The snow-bird sings in the snow. I love the high heart of the osprey, The meek heart of the thrush below, The heart of the lark in the meadow, And the snow-bird's heart in the snow ; But dearest to me " Chickadee ! Chickadee!" Is that true little heart in the snow. — Selected. D^C THE SNOW-BIRD'S SONG. 'T^HE ground was all covered with snow one day, -L And two little sisters were busy at play, When a snow-bird came flitting close by on a tree, And merrily singing his chick-a-dee-dee, Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, And merrily singing his chick-a-dee-dee. 274 NATURE IN VERSE. He had not been singing that tune very long, Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song ; " Oh, sister, look out of the window," said she, " Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-dee-dee. Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, And merrily singing his chick-a-dee-dee. " Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes, And a nice little frock, and a hat if you choose ; I wish he'd come into the parlor, and see How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-dee-dee." Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, And merrily singing his chick-a-dee-dee. " There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell who, Has clothed me already, and warm enough too. Good morning ! Oh, who are so happy as we ? " And away he went singing his chick-a-dee-dee. Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, And merrily singing his chick-a-dee-dee. — F. C. Woodward. WAITING TO GROW. LITTLE white snowdrop just waking up, Violet, daisy, and sweet buttercup, Think of the flowers that are under the snow, Waiting to grow ! And think what a number of queer little seeds, Of flowers and mosses, of ferns and of weeds, Are under the leaves and under the snow, Waiting to grow ! SONGS OF WINTER. 275 Think of the roots getting ready to sprout, Reaching their slender brown fingers about, Under the ice and the leaves and the snow, Waiting to grow ! No seed is so small, or hidden so well, That God cannot find it ; and soon he will tell His sun where to shine, and his rain where to go, Making it grow ! — Selected. dX^c COME HERE, LITTLE ROBIN. COME here, little Robin, and don't be afraid, I would not hurt even a feather ; Come here, little Robin, and pick up some bread, To feed you this very cold weather. I don't mean to hurt you, you poor little thing ! And Pussy cat is not behind me ; So hop about pretty, and put down your wing, And pick up the crumbs, and don't mind me. Cold winter is come, but it will not last long, And summer we soon shall be greeting ; Then remember, sweet Robin, to sing me a song, In return for the breakfast you're eating. — Easy Poetry. * 276 NATURE IN VERSE. WHAT THE SNOW-BIRDS SAID. " /^HEEP, cheep," said some little snow-birds, V.^ As the snow came whirling down ; " We haven't a nest, Or a place of rest, Save this oak-tree bending down." " Cheep, cheep," said little Wee-Wing, The smallest bird of all ; " I have never a care, In the winter air — God cares for great and small." "Peep, peep," said her father, Gray-Breast, You're a thoughtless bird, my dear. We all must eat, And warm our feet, When snow and ice are here." "Cheep, cheep," said little Wee- Wing, "You are wise and good, I know; But think of the fun For each little one, When we have ice and snow. " Now I can see, from my perch on the tree, The merriest, merriest sight — Boys skating along On the ice so strong — Cheep, cheep, how merry and bright ! " SONGS OF WINTER. 277 " And I see," said Brownie Snow-bird, " A sight that is prettier, far — Five dear little girls, With clustering curls, And eyes as bright as a star." " And I," said his brother Bright-Eyes, " See a man of ice and snow; He wears a queer hat, His large nose is flat — The little boys made him, I know." " I see some sleds," said Mother Brown, " All filled with girls and boys ; They laugh and sing, Their voices ring, And I like the cheerful noise." Then the snow-birds all said, " Cheep and chee, Hurrah for ice and snow ; For the girls and boys, Who drop us crumbs, As away to their sport they go ! " Hurrah for the winter, clear and cold, When the dainty snowflakes fall ! We will sit and sing, On our oaken swing, For God takes care of us all! " — Selected. 278 NATURE IN VERSE. OUR SIR ROBIN. WHEN icicles shine so bright, Telling of cold weather, Then we see Sir Robin bright, Rich in scarlet feather. Sharp brown eyes, and sober suit, Robin's voice is ever mute — Pretty winter Robin ! When the rosebuds are in bloom, Telling summer's near, Then we hear the voice of Robin Singing loud and clear. Of all wildwood birds, the best, Robin of the red, red breast — Pretty winter robin ! >X*c — Selected. THE CHRISTMAS SILENCE. HUSHED are the pigeons cooing low, On dusty rafters of the loft; And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft, Sleep on the fragrant hay below. Dim shadows in the corner hide ; The glimmering lantern's rays are shed Where one young lamb just lifts his head, Then huddles against his mother's side. SONGS OF WINTER. 279 Strange silence tingles in the air ; Through the half-open door a bar Of light from one low hanging star Touches a baby's radiant hair — No sound — the mother, kneeling, lays Her cheek against the little face. Oh, human love ! Oh, heavenly grace ! 'Tis yet in silence that she prays ! Ages of silence end to-night; Then to the long-expectant earth Glad angels come to greet His birth In burst of music, love, and light ! — Margaret Deland. ^c MERRY CHRISTMAS. IN the hush of early morning, When the red burns through the gray, And the wintry world lies waiting For the glory of the day, Then we hear a fitful rustling Just without upon the stair, See two small white phantoms coming, Catch the gleam of sunny hair. Are they Christmas fairies stealing Rows of little socks to fill ? Are they angels floating hither With their message of good-will ? 280 NATURE IN VERSE. What sweet spells are these elves weaving, As like larks they chirp and sing ? Are these palms of peace from heaven That these lovely spirits bring ? v. Rosy feet upon the threshold, Eager faces peeping through, With the first red ray of sunshine, Chanting cherubs come in view ; Mistletoe and gleaming holly, Symbols of a blessed day, In their chubby hands they carry, Streaming all along the way. Well we know them, never weary Of this innocent surprise ; Waiting, watching, listening always, With full hearts and tender eyes, While our little household angels, White and golden in the sun, Greet us with the sweet old welcome, — " Merry Christmas, every one ! " • Selected. aXXc HOLLY. NOT one pretty flower would stay, When old Autumn nipped the grass ; For she had a cruel way, Though as red-cheeked as a lass. Winter had our Northland taken, Her white flags by wind outshaken. SONGS OF WINTER. 281 What then was there bright enough For the merry Christmas Day ? " Good Dame Nature, be less rough," Said the folks, " leave storms, we pray ; Bring some posies and be cheery, Lest she find the world too dreary." " What are posies in the gleam Of my beautiful white frost ? " Said the old dame from her dream. " By the hedge all snow-embossed, Bloom itself the glad day carries," And she held up holly berries. How their scarlet brightness shone In the morning's airy tracks ! Nature is a wise old crone ; She knows what a picture lacks. Winter lost its melancholy ; Christmas laughed to see the holly. Since that hour, now far away, When Time's tired wing was light, In the path of Christmas Day Always shine the berries bright ; And 'mid all its tender folly, Gleams the blush of Christmas holly. — Susan Hartley. 282 NATURE IN VERSE. SAID TULIP, "THAT IS SO." ONE Christmas time some roots and bulbs, That lived far under ground, Began to talk so softly that Above was heard no sound. Said Hyacinth, " It seems a shame That we should have no share In all the fun that's going on ; It really is not fair. We hear the merry, jingling bells, As sleighs fly o'er the snow, But cannot see a single thing." Said Tulip, " That is so." Said Crocus, " I would like my dress Of shining gold to don." Said Scilla, " O, I wish I could My bright blue gown put on." "And much I long to join the dance> For none can rival me In grace, the wind has oft declared," Said fair Anemone. " And would," Narcissus said, " I might My silver trumpet blow ; 'Twould glad, I'm sure, the Christmas green." Said Tulip, " That is so." Then spoke the Snowdrop, " Cease to wish, For wishes are in vain ; Here must we stay until we're called Above the ground again. SONGS OF WINTER. 283 The blessing of a perfect rest At Christmas time is ours, That we may gather strength to deck The earth, in spring, with flowers ; So sleep again, my sisters, dear, Till it is time to grow, And all your dreams shall pleasant be." Said Tulip, "That is so." — Madge Elliot. **?< WINTER APPLES. WHAT cheer is there that is half so good, In the snowy waste of a winter night, As a dancing fire of hickory wood, And an easy-chair in its mellow light, And a pearmain apple, ruddy and sleek, Or a jenetting with a freckled cheek? A russet apple is fair to view, With a tanny tint like an autumn leaf, The warmth of a ripen'd corn-field's hue, Or golden hint of a harvest sheaf ; And the wholesome breath of the finished year Is held in a winecup's blooming sphere. They bring you a thought of the orchard trees, In blossomy April and leafy June, And the sleeepy droning of bumble-bees In the lazy light of the afternoon, And tangled clover and bobolinks, Tiger-lilies and garden pinks. 284 NATURE IN VERSE. If you've somewhere left, with its gable wide, A farm-house set in an orchard old, You'll see it all in the winter-tide, At sight of a pippin's green and gold, Or a pearmain apple, ruddy and sleek, Or a jenetting with a freckled cheek. — Hattie Whitney — St. Nicholas. >X*c DANCE OF THE MONTHS. THE New Year comes in with shout and laughter, And see, twelve months are following after ! First January all in white, And February short and bright ; See breezy March go tearing round; But tearful April makes no sound. May brings a pole with flowers crowned, And June strews roses on the ground. A pop ! A bang ! July comes in ; Says August, "What a dreadful din ! " September brings her golden sheaves ; October waves her pretty leaves, While pale November waits to see December bring the Christmas tree. They join their hands to make a ring, And as they dance they merrily sing, " Twelve months we are, you see us here, We make the circle of the year. We dance and sing, and children hear, We wish you all a glad New Year." — Selected. SONGS OF WINTER. 285 THE LITTLE PINE-TREE. (From the German.) ONCE a little Pine-tree, In the forest ways, Sadly sighed and murmured, Through the summer days. " I am clad in needles — Hateful things ! " he cried ; " All the trees about me Laugh in scornful pride. Broad their leaves and fair to see ; Worthless needles cover me. " Ah, could I have chosen, Then, instead of these, Shining leaves should crown me, Shaming all the trees. Broad as theirs and brighter, Dazzling to behold ; All of gleaming silver — Aye, of burnished gold. Then the rest would weep and sigh ; None would be so fine as I." Slept the little Pine-tree When the night came down, While the leaves he wished for Budded on his crown. All the forest wondered At the dawn, to see 286 NATURE IN VERSE. What a golden fortune Decked this little tree. Then he sang and laughed aloud ; Glad was he and very proud. Foolish little Pine-tree ! At the close of day, Thro' the gloomy twilight Came a thief that way. Soon the treasure vanished ; Sighed the Pine, " Alas ! Would that I had chosen Leaves of crystal glass." Long and bitterly he wept, But with night again he slept. Gladly in the dawning, Did he wake to find That the gentle fairies Had again been kind. How his blazing crystals Lit the morning air! Never had the forest Seen a sight so fair. Then a driving storm did pass ; All his leaves were shattered glass. Humbly said the Pine-tree, " I have learned 'tis best Not to wish for fortunes Fairer than the rest. Glad were I, and thankful, If I might be seen SONGS OF WINTER. 287 Like the trees about me, Clad in tender green." Once again he slumbered, sad ; Once again his wish he had. Broad his leaves and fragrant, Rich were they and fine, Till a goat at noon-day Halted there to dine. Then her kids came skipping Round the fated tree ; All his leaves could scarcely Make a meal for three. Every tender bud was nipt, Every branch and twig was stripped Then the wretched Pine-tree Cried in deep despair, " Would I had my needles ; They were green and fair. Never would I change them," Sighed the little tree ; "Just as nature gave them They were best for me." Then he slept, and waked, and found All his needles safe and sound. — Eudora S. Bu?nstead. 288 NATURE IN VERSE. PINE NEEDLE. IF Mother Nature patches the leaves of trees and vines, I'm sure she does her darning with the needles of the pines, They are so long and slender ; and somewhere in full view, She has her threads of cobweb, and a thimble made of dew. — Selected. >x*:< THREE TREES. THE pine-tree grew in the wood, Tapering, straight, and high; Stately and proud it stood, Black-green against the sky. Crowded so close, it sought the blue, And ever upward it reached and grew. The oak-tree stood in the field. Beneath it dozed the herds ; It gave to the mower a shield, It gave a home to the birds. Sturdy and broad, it guarded the farms With its brawny trunk and knotted arms. The apple-tree grew by the wall, Ugly and crooked and black ; But it knew the gardener's call, And the children rode on its back. It scattered its blossoms upon the air, It covered the ground with fruitage fair. SONGS OF WINTER. 289 " Now, hey," said the pine, "for the wood ! Come live with the forest band. Our comrades will do you good, And tall and straight you will stand." And he swung his boughs to a witching sound, And flung his cones like coins around. " O-ho ! " laughed the sturdy oak ; " The life of the field for me. I weather the lightning-stroke ; My branches are broad and free. Grow straight and slim in the wood if you will, Give me the sun and the wind-swept hill." And the apple-tree murmured low, " I am neither straight nor strong ; Crooked my back doth grow With bearing my burdens long." And it dropped its fruit as it dropped a tear, And reddened the ground with fragrant cheer. And the Lord of the harvest heard, And he said : "I have use for all ; For the bough that shelters a bird, For the beam that pillars a hall ; And grow they tall, or grow they ill, They grow but to wait their Master's will." So a ship of the oak was sent Far over the ocean blue, And the pine was the mast that bent As over the waves it flew, And the ruddy fruit of the apple-tree Was borne to a starving isle of the sea. 290 NATURE IN VERSE. Now the farmer grows like the oak, And the townsman is proud and tall ; The city and field are full of folk — But the Lord has need of all. 5^C THE BODY. ROM the top of my head to my tiny toes, I am built of bones as every one knows. — Selected. F These are the framework so strong within ; Outside they are covered with flesh and skin. The parts of my body are only three, My head, my trunk, and my limbs as you see. My head has a back, two sides, and a crown, All covered with hair, yellow, black, red, or brown. And just in front, in the foremost place, You plainly can see my neat little face. My face has a forehead, nose, mouth, and chin, Two cheeks where the dimples slip out and in. Two eyes to see you when you are near, Two ears like seashells, to help me to hear. My neck and shoulders so broad and strong, Arm, forearm, wrist, hand, and fingers so long. My trunk, and my thighs, legs, ankles, and knees, On two feet I stand, or run, if I please. SONGS OF WINTER. 291 My joints are to bend, when I run, jump, or walk; I've a little red tongue to help me to talk. These make up my body, and now I will tell What we all must do to keep strong and well. To be neat and clean we must take great care, Have plenty of sunshine and breathe the fresh air. Eat nourishing food to make good blood ; and then We shall all become strong women and men. — Selected. TWO AND ONE. TWO ears and only one mouth have you ; The reason, I think, is clear ; It teaches, my child, that it will not do To talk about all you hear. Two eyes and only one mouth have you ; The reason of this must be That you should learn that it will not do To talk about all you see. Two hands and only one mouth have you ; And it is worth while repeating ; The two are for work that you must do, The one is enough for eating. — Selected. # 292 NATURE IN VERSE. WHAT THE COAL SAYS. i AM as black as black can be, But yet I shine. My home was deep within the earth, In a dark mine. Ages ago I was buried there, And yet I hold The sunshine and the heat which warmed That world of old. Though black and cold I seem to be, Yet I can glow. Just put me on a blazing fire, Then you will know. — Selected. 3XX< THE CANARY'S STORY. I HAVE a little mistress, Her name is Kitty Blair ; She always used to give me The very best of care. But now she has two Dollies She never thinks of me, And I'm just as much neglected As a little bird can be. When I sing my very sweetest, As I always try to do, She covers up my cage, and says, " Oh, what a great ado ! SONGS OF WINTER. 293 I'm sure I shall be deafened ! " Then she starts and runs away, And I see no more of Kitty Through all the weary day. My bath is always empty now, And I've very little seed ; When I've had a lump of sugar 'Twould be hard to tell, indeed. My cage is quite untidy, But Kitty heeds it not; And I call her, oh ! how vainly — For alas ! I am forgot. I've trilled my sweetest melodies; Alas ! 'tis all in vain. I'll fold my head beneath my wing And never more complain. " My heart is broken, Kitty, But I'll forgive you, dear; And I'm sure you will be sorry And will shed for me a tear." When Kitty heard the mournful strain, Her heart was full of grief. She left her Dollies then in haste, And ran to his relief. She put fresh paper on the floor, And seed within the cup, And water in the tiny bath, Then took poor Birdie up, And gently stroked his yellow wings, And whispered words so low, 294 NATURE IN VERSE. I think he must have understood, For this I surely know: He opened wide his bright, black eye, Then on his perch he flew, And poured such tide of melody As mortal never knew. — E. V.S. >**:< THE LITTLE KITTENS. TWO little kittens, one stormy night, Began to quarrel and then to fight ; One had a mouse, the other had none, And that was the way the quarrel begun. " I'll have that mouse," said the bigger cat. " You'll have that mouse ? We'll see about that." " I will have that mouse," said the elder son. "You won't have that mouse! " said the little one. I told you before 'twas a stormy night When these two little kittens began to fight; The old woman seized her sweeping broom, And swept the two kittens right out of the room. The ground was covered with frost and snow, And the two little kittens had nowhere to go ; So they laid them down on the mat at the door, While the angry old woman was sweeping the floor. And then they crept in as quiet as mice, All wet with snow, and as cold as ice ; SONGS OF WINTER. 295 For they found it was better, that stormy night, To lie down and sleep than to quarrel and fight. — Selected. >>^c THEY DIDN'T THINK. ONCE a trap was baited With a piece of cheese ; It tickled so a little mouse It almost made him sneeze ; An old rat said, "There's danger, Be careful where you go ! " " Nonsense ! " said the other, " I don't think you know ! " So he walked in boldly — Nobody in sight ; First he took a nibble, Then he took a bite ; Close the trap together Snapped as quick as wink, Catching mousey fast there, 'Cause he didn't think. Once a little turkey, Fond of her own way, Wouldn't ask the old ones Where to go or stay ; She said, " I'm not a baby, Here I am half -grown ; Surely I am big enough To run about alone ! " 296 NATURE IN VERSE. Off she went, but somebody Hiding saw her pass ; Soon like snow her feathers Covered all the grass. So she made a supper For a sly young mink, 'Cause she was so headstrong That she wouldn't think. Once there was a robin Lived outside the door, Who wanted to go inside And hop upon the floor. " No, no," said the mother, " You must stay with me ; Little birds are safest Sitting in a tree." " I don't care," said Robin, And gave his tail a fling, " I don't think the old folks Know quite everything." Down he flew, and Kitty seized him, Before he'd time to blink ; " Oh," he cried, " I'm sorry, But I didn't think." Now, my little children, You who read this song, Don't you see what trouble Comes of thinking wrong ? And can't you take a warning From their dreadful fate Who began their thinking When it was too late ? SONGS OF WINTER. 297 Don't think there's always safety When no danger shows ; Don't suppose you know more Than anybody knows ; But when you're warned of ruin, Pause upon the brink, And don't go under headlong, 'Cause you didn't think. — Phcebe Cary. >*»« THE BEAUTIFUL ISLAND OF CEYLON. OH, this beautiful island of Ceylon With the cocoanut-trees on the shore, It is shaped like a pear with the peel on, And Kandy lies in at the core. And Kandy is sweet (you ask Gertie) Even when it is spelt with a K, And the people are cheerful and dirty, And dress in a comical way. Here comes a particular dandy, With two ear-rings and half of a shirt ; He's considered the swell of all Kandy, And the rest of him's covered with dirt. And here comes the belle of the city, With rings on her delicate toes, And eyes that are painted and pretty, And a jewel that shakes in her nose. 298 NATURE IN VERSE. And the dear little girls and their brothers; And the babies so jolly and fat, Astride on the hips of their mothers And as black as a gentleman's hat. And the queer little heaps of old women ; And the shaven Buddhistical priests ; And the lake which the worshipers swim in ; And the wagons with curious beasts. The tongue they talk mostly is Tamul, Which sounds you can hardly tell how ; It is half like the scream of a camel, And half like the grunt of a sow. — Phillips Brooks. x>^o^ THE FERRY FOR SHADOWTOWN. SWAY to and fro in the twilight gray; This is the ferry for Shadowtown; It always sails at the end of the day, Just as the darkness closes down. Rest, little head, on my shoulder so ; A sleepy kiss is the only fare ; Drifting away from the world we go, Baby and I in the rocking-chair. See, where the fire-logs glow and spark, Glitter the lights of the shadowland ; The raining drops on the window, — hark ! Are ripples lapping upon its strand. SONGS OF WINTER. 299 There, where the mirror is glancing dim, A lake lies shimmering, cool and still ; Blossoms are waving above its brim, Those over there on the window-sill. Rock slow, more slow in the dusky light, Silently lower the anchor down. Dear little passenger, say " Good-night ! " We've reached the harbor for Shadowtown ! — Motherhood. >>«< THE STARS' BALL. OH ! the stars, one and all, They had a great ball One night, way up in the sky ; They invited the Earth To join in their mirth, But it feared to go up so high. No fiddler had they Their music to play, And the stars were afraid 'twould fail ; But the man in the moon He whistled a tune, And the comet kept time with his tail. They danced, and they danced, And they pranced, and they pranced, Till the Moon said 'twas all he desired For his lips were so sore He could whistle no more, And the comet began to get tired. 300 NATURE IN VERSE. So they faded away In the dim light of day, The moon and the stars from the ball. But sad to relate, Next night they were late, And came near not shining at all. — Ladies' Home Journal. OUR FLAG. FLAG of our country brave, Red, white, and blue, We love to watch thee wave ; Our love is true. Oh ! let us loudly sing ! Loudly let our praises ring, Praise to this noble thing, Red, white, and blue. Red is the blood that rolls ; Blue is the sky ; White are the heroes' souls, For thee that die. Oh ! let us loudly sing ! Loudly let our praises ring, Praise that this holy thing Still waves on high. Broad is our native land, — Land of the free, 'Mong all the nations grand, Foremost to be.- SONGS OF W/JVTEX. 301 Oh ! let us loudly sing ! Thanks unto our God and King, Thanks for this noble thing, Father, to Thee ! — Selected. :>^< HURRAH FOR THE FLAG. THERE are many flags in many lands, There are flags of every hue, But there is no flag, however grand, Like our own " Red, White, and Blue." I know where the prettiest colors are, And I'm sure if I only knew How to get them here I could make a flag Of glorious " Red, White, and Blue." I would cut a piece from an evening sky, Where the stars were shining through, And use it just as it was on high, For my stars and field of blue. Then I'd want a part of a fleecy cloud, And some red from a rainbow bright ; And put them together side by side, For my stripes of red and white. We shall always love the " Stars and Stripes," And we mean to be ever true To this land of ours and the dear old flag, The Red, the White, and the Blue. 302 NATURE IN VERSE. Then hurrah for the flag ! our country's flag, Its stripes and white stars too ; There is no flag in any land, Like our own " Red, White, and Blue ! " — Selected. SWEET AND LOW. SWEET and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea ; Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me ; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon ; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon ; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west, Under the silver moon ; Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. — Tennyson. SONGS OF WINTER. 303 DUTCH LULLABY. WYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe, — Sailed on a river of misty light Into a sea of dew. " Where are you going, and what do you wish ? The old moon asked the three. " We have come to fish for the herring-fish That live in this beautiful sea ; Nets of silver and gold have we," Said Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. The old moon laughed and sung a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe ; And the wind that sped them all night long, Ruffled the waves of dew ; The little stars were the herring-fish That lived in the beautiful sea. " Now cast your nets wherever you wish, But never afeard are we ! " So cried the stars to the fishermen three, — Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. All night long their nets they threw For the fish in the twinkling foam, Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home ; 304 NATURE IN VERSE. 'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed As if it could not be ; And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed, Of sailing that beautiful sea ; But I shall name you the fishermen three, — Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle-bed ; So shut your eyes while mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock on the misty sea Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, — Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. — Eugene Field — A Little Book of Western Verse. >X*c GOOD-NIGHT. GOOD-NIGHT, pretty Sun, good-night! I've watched your purple and golden light While you are sinking away ; And some one has just been telling me You're making o'er the shining sea Another beautiful day ; That just at the time I am going to sleep, SONGS OF WINTER. 305 The children there are taking a peep At your face, — beginning to say, " Good-morning ! " just when I say " good-night ! " Now, beautiful Sun, if they've told me right, I wish you'd say good-morning for me To all the little ones over the sea. — Sydney Dayre. NOW THE DAY IS OVER. NOW the day is over, Night is drawing nigh, Shadows of the evening Steal across the sky. Through the long night-watches, May Thine angels spread Their white wings above us ; Watching round each bed. When the morning wakens Then may I arise Pure, and fresh, and sinless, In Thy holy eyes. — Sabine Baring-Gould. C^e jfimtiatttentalsJ in Cuucatton. Standard and Popular Text-boohs in Reading, Spelling, Writing, Lai, guage, and Number ; also in Drawing and Music. The Normal Course in Reading. By Emma J. Todd, formerly Training Teacher in the Public Schools of Aurora, 111., and W. B. Powell, A.M., Superintendent of City Schools, Washington, D.C. This series includes a Primer, New First Reader, Second Reader, Third Reader, Fourth Reader, and Fifth Reader, besides Alternate First, Second, and Third Readers. The Normal Course in Spelling. For Public and Private Schools. By Larkin Dunton, LL.D., Head Master of the Boston Normal School, and C. Goodwin Clark, A.M., late Master of the Gaston School. This course includes a Primary Book, Advanced Book, and Complete Course, besides Spelling Blanks. The Normal Review System of Writing. By D. H. Far- ley, Professor of Penmanship in the State Normal School of New Jersey, at Trenton, and W. B. Gunnison, Principal of Public School No. 19, Brooklyn, N.Y., Ex-President of the New York State Teachers' Association. This system includes both slanting and vertical copies, with a Manual ofVertical Writing. The Normal Course in English. By Prof. Alfred H. Welsh arid J. M. Greenwood, Superintendent of Schools, Kansas City, Mo. This course includes "The Elements of Language and Grammar," and "Studies in English Grammar." The Normal Course in Number. By John W. Cook, Presi- dent of Illinois State Normal University,' and Miss N. Cropsey, Assistant Superintendent of City Schools, Indianapolis, Ind. This course includes an Elementary Arithmetic and the New Advanced Arithmetic. The Normal Course in Drawing. By Prof. H. W. Shaylor, Director of Drawing and Penmanship in the Public Schools of Portland, Me. This course includes nine numbers, besides a blank Drawing-Book and a Hand- book for Teachers. The Normal Music Course. By Jor>: w. Tufts and H. E. Holt. A complete Series of Music Readers and Charts, for every grade of School and Class Instruction in Vocal Music. SILVER, BURDETT & COMPANY, Publishers. Boston. New York. Philadelphia. Chicago.