NDER the bowering honey

suckle,

By purple bells of shaking heather,

And brambly spines that
closely buckle

Thick-leaved chains together,
As the sunshine plays,
Where the lily strays

On its stream,
Netting a gaudy maze
Where the shingles gleam,
Flitting in cressy nook

Which the forget-me-not,
King-cup, and hare-dell dot,
How the glad little brook,
Sparkling along,
Singeth in joyous measure,
Toned by its own sweet pleasure,
Music's song!

LITTLE brook went singing,
All through the summer hours,
Ever a low soft murmur

It whispered to the flowers.
The bulrush and the sedgegrass
Its leafy border made,
And the low bending willow

Gave cool and quiet shade.

The young birds loved its shelter,
And listened to its song,

They tried to learn its cadence,
As it carolled it along.
What was the brooklet singing,
What did its murmur say,
Its dreamy tones of music
Through all the summer-day?

A child came to its margin,
It sang its song to her :
"Fair child," it said, "I'm joyous
As spring-time's flowerets are.
For life is glad and sunny,
And who so gay as I?
For flowerets kiss me as I pass
Beneath the glowing sky."

A maiden watched the brooklet,
To her its low voice said,
"Calm my life has always been
In this fair meadow led;
If clouds have dimmed the brightness,
They quickly passed away,
And when I've reached the river,
I shall be always gay."

Long years had changed the maiden,
When there she stood again;
Youth's glee had left her spirit,
Her eyes were dim with pain.
Was it the song her childhood,
Or that her girlhood knew,
That reached her world-worn spirit,
Watching its waters blue?

She heard a sadder murmur

Than she had heard before;
"Oh never gleams the sunlight
In brightness as of yore!
I'm weary of the meadow,

I'm weary of my tune,
The nights are dark and cheerless,
The winter cometh soon."

An aged woman watched it
With tear-dimmed anxious eye,
And bent her ear to listen

To the streamlet's symphony.
But oh, it sang that evening

A changed, a sadder sound; "I go my weary journey,

To that great ocean bound.

"My life is sad and restless,

I water many a grave, I fear the heaving ocean,

I fear the mighty wave."But still the child and maiden And weary woman's heart, Read not aright its lesson,

Nor what its music taught.

Their own hearts beat too loudly

The stream's low tones to hear, Their spirits' voices heard they

And not its music clear. I'll tell you what it murmured, What were the words it sung, As blue-bells kissed its waters, And sedgegrass o'er it hung.

It said, "My life is humble,
But very tranquil too,
I gaze for ever upwards

On that deep sky of blue.
After the cloudlets gather,

The sunshine seems more bright; I know the morning cometh, Though dark may be the night. "Sometimes the flowerets wither, I make them fresh again; 1 bathe the thirsty willows When falls no gentle rain. The work my Maker gives me It makes me glad to do; His smile is in the sunshine, His blessing in the dew.

"The ocean I am nearing

Is beautiful and fair: He leads me through the meadow, He'll make me happy there. And anywhere and everywhere, So that I do His will, And do my life's work bravely, I shall be happy still."