Tender messages he carries

From the flowers that watch and sigh
As they gaze upon you sailing,

Slowly sailing through the sky.

"MA

THE DEW.

AMMA," 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,

- Selected.

"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."

RAIN IN SUMMER.

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;

- Selected.

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!

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.

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 fête away.

- Emily Dickinson.

I

A SONG OF CLOVER.

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!

PEBBLES.

UT of a pellucid brook

OUT

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 Dempster Sherman.

WHAT THE BURDOCK WAS GOOD FOR.

'OOD for nothing," the farmer said,

"Go

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.