Do you see Martha Hunt, how she bears all Of the chilly, damp, blustering day? How snug she will sit by the fireplace and knit, The wind roars away. 'Master Wind,' they 'We thank you for this pretty blaze.' Then, spite of the rooks, what we read in the books Is true, and the storm has done good; It seems hard, I own, when the nests are o'erthrown, But Daniel and Martha get wood. 13 Keble. THE LAST DAY OF FLOWERS. Brother, before we go to bed, Let's run to the meadow gate, I wonder do the flowers know To-morrow they must die? All day to-morrow you and John Dead leaves and faded flowers together; But I shall feel a little sad, For you know I always say When all the pleasant meadow-lands The cuckoo flowers stand boldly up, And see the poppies near the hedge, I shall not join the haymaking, We have loved the summer through. D I am glad the sun shone out so warm, Annie Keary. 14 THE BLIND BOY. The blind boy's been at play, mother, A tear came trembling down his cheek, We took him to the mill, mother, We asked him why he wept, mother, Ah me!' he said, while tears ran down As fast as summer showers; 'It is because I cannot see The sunshine and the flowers. Oh, that poor sightless boy, mother, For I can look with joy, mother, On all I love the best. And when I see the dancing stream, I'll kneel upon the meadow-grass, And thank God for my sight. E. Cook. 15 THE WEATHER GLASS. I've got my broidered kerchief on, He says the sun will surely shine, Grandfather's weather-glass says 'Dry' Ah, pimpernel, you're wide awake! From Summer Songs.' 16 THE MONTHS. January brings the snow, makes our feet and fingers glow, February brings the rain, thaws the frozen lake again. March brings breezes loud and shrill, stirs the dancing daffodil. April brings the primrose sweet, scatters daisies at our feet. May brings flocks of pretty lambs, skipping by their fleecy dams. June brings tulips, lilies, roses, fills the children's hands with posies. Hot July brings cooling showers, apricots and gilliflowers, August brings the sheaves of corn; then the harvest home is borne. Warm September brings the fruit; sportsmen, too, begin to shoot. Fresh October brings the pheasant; then to gather nuts is pleasant. |