But lo! when came the morrow's morn,
The clouds were all blown over;

The lark sprang singing from his nest
Among the dewy clover;

And Pleasure called, "Come out and dance!

To-day you mourn no evil chance:

The clouds have all blown over!"

"But if they have, alas, alas!
Poor comfort that!" said Sorrow;
"For if to-day we miss the storm
"Twill surely come to-morrow,
And be the fiercer for delay:
I am too sore at heart to play.
Woe's me!" said Little Sorrow.

ANNIE D. GREEN

(MARIAN DOUGLAS).

* 37 *

LUCK AND LABOR.

LUCK doth wait, standing idly at the gate,

Wishing, wishing, all the day;

And at night, without a fire, without a light,
And before an empty tray,
Doth sadly say,

"To-morrow something may turn up;
To-night on wishes I must sup."

LABOR goes, ploughing deep the fertile rows,
Singing, singing, all the day,

And at night, before the fire, beside the light,
And with a well-filled tray,
Doth gladly say,

“To-morrow I'll turn something up;
To-night on wages earned I sup.'

MRS. CAROLINE A. SOULE. (In "St. Nicholas.")

* 38 *

PERSEVERANCE.

A SWALLOW in the spring
Came to our granary, and 'neath the eaves
Essayed1 to make a nest, and there did bring
Wet earth and straw and leaves.

Day after day she toiled

With patient heart; but ere her work was crowned, Some sad mishap the tiny fabric spoiled,

And dashed it to the ground.

She found the ruin wrought; 2

But not cast down, forth from the place she flew, And with her mate fresh earth and grasses brought, And built her nest anew.

1 essayed, tried.

2 wrought, worked, done.

But scarcely had she placed

The last soft feather on its ample floor,

When wicked hands, or chance, again laid waste, And wrought the ruin o'er.

But still her heart she kept, And toiled again; and last night, hearing calls, I looked, and, lo! three little swallows slept Within the earth-made walls.

What truth is here, O Man! Hath hope been smitten in its early dawn? Have clouds o'ercast thy purpose, trust, or plan? -Have faith, and struggle on.

R. S. S. ANDROS

* 39 *

DISCONTENT.

Down in a field, one day in June,
The flowers all bloomed together,
Save one, who tried to hide herself,
And drooped, that pleasant weather.

A Robin who had flown too high,
And felt a little lazy,

Was resting near this Buttercup

Who wished she were a Daisy ;

For Daisies grow so trig and tall!
She always had a passion
For wearing frills around her neck,
In just the Daisies' fashion.

And Buttercups must always be
The same old tiresome color;
While Daisies dress in gold and white,
Although their gold is duller.

"Dear Robin," said this sad young flower, "Perhaps you'd not mind trying

To find a nice white frill for me,
Some day when you are flying?"

"You silly thing!" the Robin said,
"I think you must be crazy:

I'd rather be my honest self
Than any made-up Daisy.

"You're nicer in your own bright gown; The little children love you:

Be the best Buttercup you can,
And think no flower above you.

66

Though Swallows leave me out of sight,

We'd better keep our places:

Perhaps the world would all go wrong

With one too many Daisies.

"Look bravely up into the sky,
And be content with knowing
That God wished for a Buttercup
Just here, where you are growing."

* 40 *

SARAH O. JEWETT.

THE DEWDROP AND THE STREAM.

THE brakes 1 with golden flowers were crowned,

And melody was heard around,

When, near the scene, a dewdrop shed

Its lustre on a violet's head,

And trembling to the breeze it hung.
The streamlet, as it rolled along,
The beauty of the morn confessed,
And thus the sparkling pearl addressed:

"Sure, little drop, rejoice we may,
For all is beautiful and gay;
Creation wears her emerald 2 dress,
And smiles in all her loveliness;
And with delight and pride I see
That little flower bedewed by thee:
Thy lustre with a gem might vie,
While trembling in its purple eye."

66

Ay, you may well rejoice, 'tis true,"
Replied the radiant drop of dew:

1 brake, a tract of land overgrown with ferns, furze, &c.
2 emerald, green, like the precious stone of that name.