290 1 HE IRRIGATION AGE. 



practice what has been urged herein, others will see the great advan- 

 tage of so doing and the good work will go on. 



Tree planting is one of the grandest works given for man to do 

 in partnership with nature. Oh, how I love it! 



Campbell's soil culture is good; but the saving of soil and mois- 

 ture too is good, and these three together, and together they should 

 go, will do more for this country than anything else. We can then 

 rest assured the drouth and stormy years will lose half their terrors. 

 Nebraska City, Neb., July, 1902. 



"KNEE DEEP." 



They are calling "Knee deep!" Knee deep!" tonight in the marsh below, 



Down by the bank, where tho rank bulrushes and calamus grow, 



Hark! how the anvils ring, as the silver hammers smite. 



To the chime of that old rhyme, all the golden summer night, 



Over the swampy forge the sparks of the fireflies rise: 



In the shadows the maiden lilies lean with languorous sighs 



To their lover, the whip-poor-will, who is watched by the fluffy owl, 



While the night-hawk shuffles by, a monk in a velvet cowl, 



And the bat weaves inky weft, through the white star-beams that peep 



Down through the cypress boughs, where the frogs all sing ''Knee deep. " 



Sometimes a song will beckon a heart-broken man like me 



Back to the bygone years, and the scenes that used to be 



When this world was fenced from heaven by one rose hedge, and through 



That bourne the blessed angels looked, and asphodal odors blew, 



So, listening to the lilt of the minstrels among the reeds, 



My soul leaps out of its human husk into the clover meads; 



And I see the storm king ride the summer clouds in state, 



With chariot whip of livid flame and thunder billingsgate; 



And watch the tawny tide, 'mid the lush sword grasses creep, 



While the frightened frogs all cling to the willows and sing, "Knee deep. 



Knee deep I wade in the rippled creek, with buttercup bloom o'erblown, 

 Heaving like gold on beauty's breast, its sheen half hid, have shown; 

 Knee deep in the saffron marigolds that prank the meadows fair, 

 Like a school of Saxon children, blue eyed and with yellow hair; 

 Knee deep in the whortleberries on the upland slope I stand, 

 With torn straw hat half full, and a quail's nest in my hand; 

 Knee deep in amethyst autumn leaves I rustle toward the place 

 Where tho pert and upright rabbit sits and washes her innocent face. 

 Song of the quivering culms and osiers! I am wading again, in truth, 

 Knee deep in the stream of memory that flows from the land of youth. 



Bobert Mclntyre in the Colorado Magazine. 



