APRIL 91 



In the woods we may hear the new notes of the birds ; 

 and although tuneful, they are as yet imperfect. They are 

 singing for very joy, because sunny days are dawning, because 

 of the newness of life. Later on we shall hear their perfect 

 songs. Many a rapturous note they will pour into our ear 

 when the training of their voices shall have been completed ; 

 having finished their course of lessons from the One Great 

 Maestro, they will be commissioned by Him to take their 

 several parts on the great operatic stage of Nature. And for 

 all of us these bird operas are played in thicket and copse 

 and plantation. They open day after day with the grand 

 dawn-chorus ; we may listen enchanted to their duets, trios, 

 and quartettes, enacted until the interval at the hush of noon ; 

 we may listen enraptured to the song of the principal soloist 

 at eve, that bird of birds, the nightingale, with 



" The mellow lute upon her lips." 



But the most beautiful promise of all is for the little ones 

 around us ; and how fair an one it is ! how white, how pure, 

 how fragrant are the blossoms upon their life's tree : fragrant 

 with the happy and innocent friendships, their days are golden 

 with the sun of 



" Love, which is the sunlight of peace." 



What will they be ? and what does their Spring-time pro- 

 mise ? There are the May frosts of youth's follies to pass 

 through, and all must pass through the ordeal. May they 

 pass through it strengthened and purified by the frost of trial, 

 with their blossoms of promise unblighted, happy lad and 

 laughing lass ! 



