APRIL.
God's garden is this dim old wood, And hidden in its bosom The bursting bud, the feathery leaf And soft, sweet smelling blossom.
Ho! May is fair, and glorious June, In rose leaves doth enfold her; Their bloom is richer than my own, But mine is sweeter, bolder.
God's garden is this dim old wood, And I, the pretty vagrant, I am the gardener He sends To make it fair and fragrant.
IN MEMORIAM.
(A Tribute to Mrs. George A. Cox.)
The Golden Rule—the blessed creed That shelters frail humanity, The tender thought for those in need, The charity of word and deed, Without which all is vanity—
This, friend, you made your very own, And yours the satisfying part To pluck the rose of love full blown, To reap the gladness you had sown With open hand and kindly heart.