appy fields of summer, all your airy grasses
Whispering and bowing when the west wind passes,—
Happy lark and nestling, hid beneath the mowing,
Root sweet music in you, to the white clouds growing!
Happy fields of summer, softly billowed over
With the feathery red-top and the rosy clover,—
Happy little children seek your shady places,
Lark-songs in their bosoms, sunshine on their faces!
Happy little children, skies are bright above you,
Trees bend down to kiss you, breeze and blossom love you;
And we bless you, playing in the field-paths mazy,
Swinging with the harebell, dancing with the daisy!
Happy fields of summer, touched with deeper beauty
As your tall grain ripens, tell the children duty
Is as sweet as pleasure;—tell them both are blended
In the best life-story, well begun and ended!
THE DIGGER-WASPS AT HOME.
BY E. A. E.
July had come again, and brought with it such warm, sultry days that it almost seemed as if no living creature could stir abroad. Nevertheless, there was a wonderful deal going on in our garden. Through the air and over the flower-beds hastened hundreds of little people. Some lived in the trees and bushes, others in the ground, and all were hard at work.
One morning, especially, there seemed to be something unusual going on; the buzzing, and humming was fairly deafening.
Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! What was that great creature that darted past my face? And here came another, and another; why, the garden was full of them!