62 ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



Still there's a sense of blossoms yet unborn 

 In the sweet airs of morn ; 

 One almost looks to see the very street 

 Grow purple at his feet. 



At times a fragrant breeze comes floating by, 

 And brings, you know not why, 

 A feeling as when eager crowds await, 

 Before a palace gate. 



Some wondrous pageant ; and you scarce would start, 

 If from a beech's heart 



A blue-eyed dryad, stepping forth, should say, 

 " Behold me ! I am May ! " 



* * * * * * 



HENRY TIMROD. 



BEAUTIFUL THINGS. 



T)EAUTIFUL ground on which we tread, 

 O Beautiful heavens above our head ; 

 Beautiful flowers and beautiful trees, 

 Beautiful land and beautiful seas. 



Beautiful sun that shines so bright, 

 Beautiful stars with glittering light; 

 Beautiful summer, beautiful spring, 

 Beautiful birds that merrily sing. 



Beautiful lambs that frisk and play, 

 Beautiful night and beautiful day ; 

 Beautiful lily, beautiful rose, 

 Beautiful every flower that grows. 



Beautiful drops of pearly dew, 

 Beautiful hills and vales to view; 

 Beautiful herbs that scent the air, 

 Beautiful things grow everywhere. 



Beautiful every thing around, 

 Beautiful grass to deck the ground, 

 Beautiful fields and woods so green, 

 Beautiful birds and blossoms seen. 



Beautiful flower and beautiful leaf, 

 Beautiful world, though full of grief; 

 Beautiful every tiny blade, 

 Beautiful all that God hath made. 



