16 LECTURES AND ESSAYS READ AT FARMERS' INSTITUTES. 



Soon plans for spring the hours employ 

 And lengthened days bring brighter joy. 

 Anon the sun with loving beams 

 The maple's juices starts in streams; 

 Long ere the cowslip opes her cup 

 Rich store of sweets is treasured up. 

 And when the balmy breath of May 

 Unfold new beauties day by day, 

 Within that little cot so blest, 

 Upon the pale young mother's breast, 

 A tiny babe in sweet surprise 

 Has opened its blue ^nolet eyes. 

 Ah! bud of promise, pure and fair. 

 No liowret can with thee compare, 

 For love in all thy ways shall find 

 Th' unfolding of immortal mind. 



Now come new neighbors settling near ; 



Theu- cabins budd and forest clear, 



And all around the air rings out 



With sound of laborers" jocund shout. 



The town seems not so distant now — 



Just past yon emerald hillock's brow — 



And on the sweet still Sabbath morn — 



While yet the dew empearls the thorn — 



The church bells' chime comes faint but clear 



To greet the waiting, lisfning ear. 



Years pass away, that little cot 



Embowered in that shady spot, 



Stands thei'e no more— its pljace suppUed 



By one of elegance and pride. 



Broad lands, full barns, flocks far and wide. 



Bespeak prosperity's full tide; 



The fariuer counts his labors o'er, 



For blest is he in heart and store. 



Inside that home, the mother yet 



Holds gentle sway, though round her, set 



Like jewels round a central stone, 



Are sons and daughters; every one 



Has breadth of culture, purpose high, 



Nor deem that they from home must fly 



To find, in city's busy mart. 



Of life, the truer better part. 



Of course in time some wander far, 



But Jiome is still their guiding star; 



Each year they tread its sacred sod 



And look from it to Nature's God. 



Kind Friends, we close— though just begun — 



Our tale, though long, is but half done. 



Let him who sees in field and sky. 



And farm life, no sweet poetry, 



Go dwell in crowded city street — 



Stranger to all whom he may meet — 



Hemmed in to see no sunrise fair, 



No golden clouds in evening air. 



No bow of promise, feel no breeze, 



Soft sighing through the leafy trees. 



No whispers weird 'tween vale and hill, 



No wild brook babbling to old mill, 



No voice of Nature low and sweet. 



No emerald turf beneath his feet. ■« 



Thus let him live in pomp and pride; 



But give to me the country wide: 



And when I die. oh, let me sleep 



Where mother Nature, watch will keep; 



Where birds will sing and wild flowers wave 



Above my low, turf-covered grave. 



