ARBOR DAY MANUAL. IOI 



IN THE SWING. 



HERE we go to the branches high ! 

 Here we come to the branches low ! 

 For the spiders and flowers and birds and I 

 Love to swing when the breezes blow. 

 Swing, little bird, on the topmost bough ; 

 Swing, little spider, with rope so fine; 

 Swing, little flower, for the wind blows now ; 

 But none of you have such a swing as mine. 



Dear little bird, come sit on my toes ; 



I'm just as careful as I can be; 

 And oh. I tell you. nobody knows 



What fun we'd have if you'd play with me ! 

 Come and swing with me, birdie dear, 



Bright little flower, come swing in my hair; 

 But you, little spider, creepy and queer, 



You'd better stay and swing over there ! 



The sweet little bird, he sings and sings, 



But he doesn't even look in my face ; 

 The bright little blossom swings and swings. 



But still it swings in the self-same place. 

 Let them stay where they like it best ; 



Let them do what they'd rather do ; 

 My swing is nicer than all the rest. 



But may be it's rather small for two. 



Here we go to the branches high ! 



Here we come to the grasses low ! 

 For the spiders and flowers and birds and I 



Love to swing when the breezes blow. 

 Swing, little bird, on the topmost bough ; 



Swing, little spider, with rope so fine ; 

 Swing, little flower, for the wind blows now ; 



But none of you have such a swing as mine. 

 St. Nicholas, 1888. EUDORA S. BuMSTEAD. 



" Music hath charms to sooth a savage breast, 

 To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak." 



COXGREVE'S The Mourning Bride. 



"The sweet Elcaya and that courteous tree 

 Which bows to all who seek its canopy.'' 



MOORE'S Lotto. Rookfi. 



