62 AGRICULTURE AND RURAL-LIFE DAY. 



NATURE'S SONG. 



There is no rhyme that is half so sweet 



As the song of the wind in the rippling wheat; 



There is no meter that's half so fine 



As the lilt of the brook under rock and vine; 



And the loveliest lyric I ever heard 



Was the wildwood strain of a forest bird. 



— Madison Cawein. 



THE OAK. 



A song to the oak, 



The brave old oak, 

 Who hath ruled in the greenwood long ! 



Here's health and renown 



To his broad, green crown 

 And his fifty arms so strong ! 



There's fear in his frown 



When the sun goes down 

 And the fire in the west fades out; 



And he showeth his niisjit, 



On a wild, stormy night, 

 When the storms through his branches shout. 



Then hex*e's to the oak, 



The brave old oak. 

 Who stands in his pride alone; 



And still flourish he. 



A hale, green tree. 

 When a hundred years are gone! 



— H. F. Chorley. 



