I

THE BLUEBIRD

KNOW the song that the bluebird is singing,

Up in the apple-tree where he is swinging, Brave little fellow! The skies may look dreary,— Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery.

Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat!
Hark! was there ever so merry a note?
Listen a while and you'll hear what he's saying,
Up in the apple-tree, swinging and swaying.

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Dear little blossoms, down under the snow.
You must be weary of winter, I know;
Hark, while I sing you a message of cheer!
Summer is coming and springtime is here.

Little white snowdrop, I pray you arise,
Bright little crocus, come, open your eyes;
Sweet little violets hid from the cold,
Put on your mantle of purple and gold!
Daffodils! Daffodils! Say, do you hear?
Summer is coming, and springtime is here!"

E. H. MILLER.

ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION

O

Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the

dove,

The linnet and thrush say, "I love and I love!"
In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong;
What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing and loving, all come back together;
Then the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings and he sings, and forever sings he,
"I love my Love, and my Love loves me."

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

THE FAIRY FOLK

UP the airy mountain,

Down the rusty glen,

We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,

And white owl's feather!

Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds

Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs All night awake.

High on the hilltop

The old King sits;

He is now so old and gray

He's nigh lost his wits With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses,

On his stately journeys

From Slieveleague to Rosses;

BEAUTIFUL THINGS

BEAUTIFUL faces are those that wear

It matters little if dark or fairWhole-souled honesty printed there.

Beautiful eyes are those that show,

Like crystal panes where hearth fires glow,
Beautiful thoughts that burn below.

Beautiful lips are those whose words
Leap from the heart like songs of birds,
Yet whose utterance prudence girds.

Beautiful hands are those that do
Work that is earnest, brave, and true,
Moment by moment the long day through.

Beautiful feet are those that go

On kindly errands to and fro-
Down humblest ways, if God wills it so.

Beautiful shoulders are those that bear
The needful burdens of homely care
With patient grace and daily prayer.

Beautiful lives are those that bless
Silent rivers of happiness,

Whose hidden fountains but few may guess.

JANE TAYLOR.