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, My heart leaps high, as, far and wide, Down deep within the tangled woods, Weave on, weave on, dear Mother Earth, Of warp and woof thou hast no dearth; We'll make its folds spread o'er the land That placed it 'neath our feet. - Selected. A THE SEED. S wonderful things are hidden away 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 And two little heads come peeping out, One is the Caulicle creeping down, Steadily up toils the slender stem, A leaf appears, buds, blossoms, and fruit, Then its work all done, if an annual, And now at the touch of the Frost-king's breath Selected. WINGED SEEDS. H, gold-green wings, and bronze-green wings, Come sailing from the maple trees! You showering things, you shimmering things, Oh, are you seeds that seek the earth, Oh, downy dandelion wings, Oh, are you seeds that seek the earth, 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 A-spreading carpets o'er the dales And making up her roses: 1 So busy is the dear old earth Methinks she's getting ready for Her boys' and girls' vacation. - M. F. Butts. WORK. OWN and up, and up and down, 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, With hand on the spade and heart in the sky, Turn in the little seed, brown and dry, Work, and your house shall be duly fed; I hold that a man had better be dead Down and up, and up and down, On the hill-top, low in the valley; Work, with a plan, or without a plan, Down and up till life shall close, Ceasing not your praises; Turn in the wild, white winter snows, Selected. HOW THE WIND BLOWS! HIGH and low The spring winds blow! They take the kites that the boys have made, C And carry them off high into the air; |