SPRING FLOWERS.
With what a lavish hand
God beautifies the earth,
When everywhere, all o’er the land,
Sweet flowers are peeping forth!
Down by the babbling brook,
Up in the silent hills,
The glen, the bower, the shady nook,
Their breath with fragrance fills.
They creep along the hedge,
They climb the rugged height,
And, leaning o’er the water’s edge,
Blush in their own sweet light.
They seem to breathe and talk;
They pour into my ear;
Where’er I look, where’er I walk,
A music soft and clear.
They have no pride of birth,
No choice of regal bower;
The humblest, lowliest spot on earth
May claim the fairest flower.
TOP PHILOSOPHY.
Children must be busy,
Always something learning;
Toys and trinkets, for their secrets,
Inside-outward turning.
While the top is spinning,
Boys are wondering all,
How it stands erect unaided,
Why it does not fall.
While the top is humming,
Still the wonder grows,
By what art the little spinner
Whistles as it goes.
Children learn while playing;
Children play while learning;
Pastimes, often more than lessons,
Into knowledge turning.
BY THE LAKE.
Moonlight gleams upon the lake;
Noiselessly the waters break
On the white and pebbly shore,
Then return, to break once more.
Yonder moon, the sky’s bright green,
Glitters in its depths serene,
And the stars, above that glow,
Seem another heaven below.
On the white lake shore I stand,
Where the waters meet the land,
Shadows all around me lie,
Shutting out the starry sky—
Shutting out the world around,
In their close and narrow bound,
And the past awhile doth seem,
But a half-forgotten dream.
In the starry night, alone,
Earthly cares and thoughts are gone.
In this silence, deep and still,
Who could harbor thought of ill?
Far from all the care and strife,
All the agony of life,
Who would deem the sun could rise
On earth’s thousand miseries?
One by one my thoughts come back
To the old, familiar track,
And I turn me from the shore,
To the busy world once more.
Adelbert Older.
