278

THE NEW YEAR

Ring out the false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;

Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

TENNYSON.

FEBRUARY

AROUND, above the world of snow

The light-heeled breezes breathe and blow;
Now here, now there, they wheel the flakes,
And whistle through the sun-dried brakes,
Then, growing faint, in silence fall
Against the keyhole in the hall.

Then dusky twilight spreads around,
The last soft snowflake seeks the ground,
And through unshaded window panes
The lamp-rays strike across the plains,
While now and then a shadow tall
Is thrown upon the whitewashed wall.

The hoar frost crackles on the trees,
The rattling brook begins to freeze,
The well sweep glistens in the light
As if with dust of diamonds bright;
And spreading o'er the crusted snow
A few swift-footed rabbits go.

Then the night silence, long and deep,
When weary eyes close fast in sleep;
The hush of Nature's breath, until
The cock crows loud upon the hill;
And shortly through the eastern haze
The red sun sets the sky ablaze.

JAMES BERRY BENSEL.

O

FEBRUARY RAIN

LONELY day! No sounds are heard

Save winds and floods that downward pour, And timid fluting of a bird,

That pipes one low note o'er and o'er.

Before the blast the bare trees lean,
The ragged clouds sail low and gray,
And all the wild and wintry scene
Is but one blur of driving spray.

O day most meet for memories,
For musing by a vacant hearth
On that which was and that which is,
And those who walk no more on earth!

And yet this dark and dreary day

Some brighter lesson still can bring, For it is herald of the May,

A faint foretoken of the spring.

Beneath the ceaseless-beating rain
Earth's snowy shroud disappears,
As sorrow pressing on the brain,

Fades in a flood of happy tears.

And thus in darkness oft is wrought,
Through lonely days of tears and grief,
The gradual change by which is brought
To shadowed lives some sweet relief.

CHARLES TURNER DAZEY.

IN FEBRUARY

THE birds have been singing today,
And saying, "The spring is near!

The sun is as warm as in May,
And the deep-blue heavens are clear."'

The little bird on the boughs

Of the sombre snow-laden pine
Thinks: "Where shall I build me a house,
And how shall I make it fine?

"For the season of snow is past;
The mild south wind is on high;
And the scent of the spring is cast
From his wing as he hurries by."

The little birds twitter and cheep

To their loves on the leafless larch;
But seven foot deep the snow-wreaths sleep,
And the year hath not worn to March.

JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS.

I

A SONG OF SPRING

HEARD the bluebird singing

To robin in the tree.

'Come, winter now is over

And spring has come," said he;

'Tis time for flowers to rouse from sleep,

And from their downy blankets peep;

So, wake, wake, little flowers,

Wake, for winter is o'er,

Wake, wake, wake,

The spring has come once more."

Said robin to the bluebird,

My nest I now must build,

And shortly you will see it

With pretty blue eggs filled.

Then let us join once more and sing;

So, wake, wake, little flowers,

That all the flowers may know 'tis spring;

Wake, for winter is o'er,

Wake, wake, wake,

The spring has come once more."

The robin and the bluebird

Soon after flew away,

But as they left the tree-top,

I think I heard them say,