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JOUBERT. 



FEBRUARY 



The sleeping Spring awakes, its eyes unclose, 



And now at last the dream-kept silence breaks ; 

 With burst of melody the Winter goes, 



The sleeping Spring awakes. 



Upon the ambient air the violet makes 



An incense that forever heartward flows ; 

 Dreams Springward pass, thought winter's world forsakes. 



Tender or cruel be the wind that blows, 



Thoughts drift to lilies dreaming 'neath the lake's 

 Soft surface, silver-filled with melting snows. 

 The sleeping Spring awakes ! 



" / T~ A O watch the corn grow and the blossom set ; to draw 

 ** hard breath over ploughshare or spade ; to read, to 

 think, to love, to hope, to pray, these are the things that 

 make men happy." These beautiful words of Ruskin's come 

 with greater force as we look upon the world of early spring. 

 Busy cottagers are in their little gardens, and their hearts 

 are filled with a joy no city-pleasure could give, " drawing 

 hard breath " over the upturned mould. In the field is 

 heard the sound of the ploughman with his team ; he is 

 whistling as he guides the ploughshare. Yes ! this is true 

 happiness ; and we, beholding them, feel somewhat of the 

 pleasure steal over us we, whose life-path is in the city 

 and the sweet breath of early spring blows, as it were, over 

 the furrows that the ploughshare of Time has made, and the 

 blossoms of hope cover the bare places ! 



To-day the fields in the hedge-shadows especially are 



