I 12 



ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



THE GARDEN ON THE SANDS. 



ONCE, on a time, some little hands 

 Planted a garden on the sands; 

 And with a wish to keep it dry, 

 They raised a wall five inches high. 



Within the wall and round the walks, 

 They made a fence of slender stalks ; 

 And then they formed an arbor cool, 

 And dug in front a tiny pool. 



Their beds were oval, round and square, 

 Throw,n up and trimmed with decent care: 

 In these they planted laurel twigs, 

 And prickly holly, little sprigs 

 Of ash and poplar, and, for show, 

 Bright daffodils and heart's ease low; 

 With pink-edged daises by the score, 

 And buttercups and many more. 



One rose they found with great delight, 

 And set it round with lilies bright; 

 This finished, then they went away, 

 Resolved to come another day. 



The sea, meanwhile, with solemn roar, 

 Approached and washed the sandy shore; 

 But, all this time, it did not touch 

 The little spot they loved so much. 



The strangers that were passing by, 

 The garden viewed with smiling eye; 



But no one ventured to disturb 

 A single plant, or flower or herb. 



Still, when the children came again, 



They found their labor all in vain; 



The flowers were drooping side by side, 



The rose and lilies all had died. 



No one could make them grow or shoot, 



Because they had not any root; 



And then the soil, it was so bad, 



They must have withered if they had. 



Now, so it is that children fail, 

 Just like the garden in this tale; 

 They have good wishes, pleasant looks, 

 Are busy with their work and books; 

 Their conduct often gives delight, 

 And one would fancy all was right; 

 But, by and by, with sad surprise, 

 We see how all this goodness dies; 

 Instead of being rich with fruit, 

 They fade away for want of root. 



Oh ! pray that He who only can 

 Renew the heart of fallen man, 

 May plant you in His pleasant ground, 

 Where trees of righteousness abound; 

 So shall you be, in early youth, 

 ' Rooted and grounded in the truth." 



MR. SPRING'S CONCERT. 



A CONCERT once by Mr. Spring 

 Was given in the wood ; 

 He begged both old and young to come 



And all to sing who could. 

 Miss Lark the music to begin, 

 Her favorite ballad sang, 

 A well-known air admired by all, 

 So clear her sweet voice rang. 



And next a gentleman appeared, 



Come lately from abroad, 

 His song was short but much admired, 



And so it was encored. 

 He said that Cuckoo was his name, 



His style was quite his own; 

 He sang most kindlv while he stayed, 



But all too soon was gone. 



The Finches then were asked to sing,- 



Would they get up a glee 

 With Mr. Linnet and his wife 



Who sing so prettily? 

 And in the chorus many more 



No doubt would take a part; 

 Young Blackcap has a splendid voice 



And sings with all his heart. 



Now came the much expected guest 



Young Lady Nightingale, 

 So late that everybody feared 



She really meant to fail. 

 At first she said she could not sing 



She was afraid to try; 

 But then she sang, and all the air 



Was filled with melody. 



