﻿SPRING. 



BY MARK'S BROTHER. 



IT is May, and the farmer, with studious care, 



Is toiling the fruitful earth to prepare, 



By turning the turf with the shining share, 



Ere he scatters the seed on the plain ; 

 The soft shower falls on the thirsty field, 

 And the warm sun forces the earth to yield 



A harvest of golden grain. 



