76 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 



THE WILLOW, POPPY, AND 

 VIOLET. 



A CHILD held in his hand a slight, leafless 

 bough. It was like a supple, green wand. But 

 it had been newly cut from the parent stock, 

 and life still stirred in its little heart. 



He sought out a sheltered spot, and planted 

 it in the moist earth. Often did he visit it, and 

 when the rains of summer were witheld, he 

 watered it at the cool sunset. 



The sap, which is the blood of plants, began 

 to flow freely through its tender vessels. A 

 tiny root, like a thread, crept downwards, and 

 around the head was* a bursting forth of faint 

 green leaves. 



Seasons passed over it, and it became a 

 tree. Its slender branches drooped downward 

 to the earth. The cheering sun smiled upon 

 them the happy birds sang to them but they 

 drooped still. 



