How pleasant it is in the woods to lie,
While the scorching sun is in the sky,
And the leafy branches overhead
Arch over the streamlet's pebbly bed.

86

HOW PLEASANT IT IS.

And the dappling shadows, creeping slow,
O'er all the landscape come and go,

And the merry sunlight struggles down
Between the beechen foliage brown.

And up and down, in the gentle breeze,
The gnats are dancing beneath the trees,
And the laden bee booms by in haste,
And the butterflies go twinkling past.

And the blackbird sings his clear loud song In the echoing woods the whole day long, And the timid rabbit stops in fear,

Lest danger lurk in the brambles near.

How pleasant thus to rest awhile
From city noise and city toil,

And thus in the cool dim woods to lie,
When the scorching sun is in the sky.

S. W. P.