SEVEN TIMES ONE

THERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover,

There's no rain left in heaven;

I've said my "seven times" over and over,
Seven times one are seven.

I am old, so old I can write a letter;
My birthday lessons are done;

The lambs play always, they know no better,—
They are only one times one.

O Moon! In the night I have seen you sailing

And shining so round and low;

You were bright, ah, bright! but your light is failing,— You are nothing now but a bow.

You Moon, have you done something wrong in heaven,
That God has hidden your face?

I hope if you have, you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.

O velvet, bee, you're a dusty fellow;
You've powdered your legs with gold!
O brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!

SEVEN TIMES ONE

O columbine, open your folded wrapper,
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell!
O cuckoopint, toll me the purple clapper
That hangs in your clear green bell!

And show me your nest, with the young ones in it,—

I

I will not steal it away;

am old!

you must trust me, linnet, linnet,—

I am seven times one today.

JEAN INGELOW.

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THE CHESTNUT BURR

WEE little nut lay deep in its nest

Of satin and brown, the softest and best, And slept and grew while its cradle rocked, As it hung in the boughs that interlocked.

Now the house was small where the cradle lay,
As it swung in the winds by night and day;
For the thicket of underbrush fenced it round,
This lone little cot by the great sun browned.

This little nut grew, and ere long it found
There was work outside on the soft green ground;
It must do its part so the world might know
It had tried one little seed to sow.

And soon the house that had kept it warm
Was tossed about by the autumn storm,
The stem was cracked, the old house fell,
And the chestnut burr was an empty shell.

But the little nut, as it waiting lay,
Dreamed a wonderful dream one day,
Of how it should break its coat of brown,
And live as a tree, to grow up and down.

ANONYMOUS.

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THE CHICKEN'S MISTAKE

LITTLE downy chicken one day

Asked leave to go on the water,

Where she saw a duck with her brood at play, Swimming and splashing about her.

Indeed, she began to peep and cry,

When her mother wouldn't let her: "If ducks can swim there, why can't I; Are they any bigger or better?"

"Listen to me,

Then the old hen answered,
And hush your foolish talking;
Just look at your feet and you will see
They were only made for walking."

But chicky wistfully eyed the brook,
And didn't half believe her,

For she seemed to say by a knowing look,
"Such stories couldn't deceive her."

And as her mother was scratching the ground, She muttered lower and lower,

"I know I can go there and not get drowned, And so I think I'll show her."

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THE CHICKEN'S MISTAKE

Then she made a plunge where the stream was deep,
And saw too late her blunder:
For she hadn't hardly time to peep
Till her foolish head went under.

And now I hope her fate will show
The child, my story reading,

That those who are older sometimes know
What you will do well in heeding.

That each content in his place should dwell,

And envy not his brother;

And any part that is acted well

Is just as good as another.

For we all have our proper sphere below,
And this is a truth worth knowing:
You will come to grief if you try to go
Where you never were made for going.

PHOEBE CARY.