ARBOR DAY MANUAL. 79 



THE BLUEBELL. 



THERE is a story I have heard 

 A poet learned it from a bird, 

 And kept its music, every word 



A story of a dim ravine, 



O'er which the towering tree tops lean, 



With one blue rift of sky between , 



And there, two thousand years ago, 

 A little flower, as white as snow, 

 Swayed in the silence to and fro. 



Day after day with longing eye 



The floweret watched the narrow sky 



And fleecy clouds that floated by. 



And through the darkness, night by night, 

 One gleaming star would climb the height, 

 And cheer the lonely floweret's sight. 



Thus, watching the blue heavens afar, 

 And the rising of its favorite star. 

 A slow change came, but not to mar ; 



For softly o'er its petals white 

 There crept a blueness like the light 

 Of skies upon a summer night ; 



And in its chalice, I am told. 

 The bonny bell was found to hold 

 A tiny star that gleamed like gold. 



And blue bells of the Scottish land 

 Are loved on every foreign strand 

 Where stirs a Scottish heart or hand. 



Now little people, sweet and true, 



I find a lesson here for you, 



Writ in the floweret's bell of blue : 



The patient child whose watchful eye 

 Strives after all things pure and high 

 Shall take their imoge by and by. 



