THE WIND AND THE LEAVES.

13

And wouldn't it be wiser,

Than waiting like a dunce,
To go to work in earnest,

And learn the thing at once?

66

XV.

THE WIND AND THE LEAVES.

AUTHOR NOT KNOWN.

COME, little leaves," said the wind one day, "Come o'er the meadows with me and play. Put on your dress of red and gold;

Summer is gone and the days are cold."

Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call,
Down they came fluttering one and all.
Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
Singing the soft little songs they knew:

"Cricket, good-by, we've been friends so long;
Pretty brook, sing us your farewell song;
Say you are sorry to see us go,

Oh, you will miss us, right well we know!

"Dear little lamb in your fleecy fold,
Mother will keep you from harm and cold.
Fondly we've watched you in field and glade,
Say, will you dream of our loving shade?"

Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went;
Winter had called them, and they were content.
Soon fast asleep in their earthly beds,
The snow laid a coverlet over their heads.

XVI.

THE BROWN THRUSH.

LUCY LARCOM.

THERE'S a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree, "He's singing to me! He's singing to me!" And what does he say, little girl, little boy? "Oh, the world's running over with joy! Don't you hear? Don't you see? Hush! Look! In my tree,

I'm as happy as happy can be!"

And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do

you see,

And five eggs hid by me in the juniper tree?

Don't meddle! Don't touch! little girl, little boy, Or the world will lose some of its joy!

Now I'm glad! Now I'm free!

And I always shall be,

If you never bring sorrow to me."

So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree,

To you and to me, to you and to me;

TAKE CARE OF THE MINUTES.

And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, "Oh, the world's running over with joy!

But long it won't be,

Don't you know? don't you see?
Unless we are as good as can be!"

XVII.

TAKE CARE OF THE MINUTES.

WE

AUTHOR NOT KNOWN.

We are but minutes - little things,
Each one furnished with sixty wings,
With which we fly on our unseen track;
And not a minute ever comes back.

We are but minutes, yet each one bears
A little burden of joys and cares.
Patiently take the minutes of pain :
The worst of minutes cannot remain.

We are but minutes; when we bring
A few of the drops from pleasure's spring,
Taste of their sweetness while we stay :
It takes but a minute to fly away.

We are but minutes; use us well,

For how we are used, we must one day tell.
Who uses minutes, has hours to use;
Who loses minutes, whole years must lose.

15

XVIII.

THE CHILD'S WORLD.

AUTHOR NOT KNOWN.

GREAT, wide, beautiful, wonderful world,
With the wonderful water round you curled,
And the wonderful grass upon your breast
World, you are beautifully drest!

The wonderful air is over me,

And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree;
It walks on the water and whirls the mills,
And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.

You friendly Earth, how far do you go,

With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that

flow;

With cities, and gardens, and cliffs, and isles,
And people upon you for thousands of miles?

Ah! you are so great, and I am so small,
I tremble to think of you, world, at all;
And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,
A whisper inside me seemed to say:

"You are more than the earth, though you are such

a dot :

You can love and think, and the earth can not!"

What we ought to do this minute, "Will be better done," he'll cry,

"If to-morrow we begin it."

"Put it off," says By-and-by.

Those who heed the treacherous wooing

Will his faithless guidance rue;

What we always put off doing,
Clearly we shall never do.

We shall reach what we endeavor,
If on Now we more rely;
But unto the realms of never

Leads the pilot By-and-by.