THE LIFE OF A BEE 



and soul of me are here; I shall not pass; I shall en- 

 dure; my seed shall spring up to brighten the world." 



"But I am young," a tender blossom said, "and 

 I shall be cut off. The frost will slay me and I shall 

 have rattled down to dust ere my soul has developed 

 its immortal parts." 



At the moment I was taking honey from its lips, 

 and I felt a quivering as if its heart fluttered. 



" Dear little flower," I said, "you are living your life; 

 you cannot die; you will be swallowed up in the uni- 

 versal spirit of things. Your face has spread a glamour 

 of gold in the world; your honey has nourished a 

 thousand winged things; your scented breath has 

 floated far and has carried blessings into silent places. 

 Memory of you will linger; it will be preserved by the 

 things you have fed, by the things you have gladdened. 

 And, too, I promise that I shall remember you!" 



"How can you remember me," the flower asked, 

 "when you, too, are doomed?" 



"What!" I cried. "Doomed! Why, I am young, I 

 am swift, I am beautiful, I am glorious!" 



"Yes, and so am I. But we pass." 



"You are wise for so young a flower," spoke up the 

 elder blossom. "Both of you are of the heavens; both 

 have your lives before you in this tiny garden, ere you 

 return to the golden fields that spread out toward the 

 sun. You are immortal." 



Just then I saw one of the petals blow away from 

 the face of the elder flower. It fluttered and fluttered 

 and finally fell to the earth. Scarcely had it struck 

 the ground when something with a long, thin body 

 and active legs seized it and began struggling to draw 



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