ARBOR DA Y MAX UAL. 



177 



NOW IS THE TIME. 



THE bud will soon become a flower, 

 The flower become a seed ; 

 Then seize. O youth ! the present hour, 

 Of that thou hast most need. 



The sun and rain will ripen fast 

 Each seed that thou hast sown- 



And every act and word at last 

 Bv its own fruit be known. 



Do thy best always do it now 

 For, in the present time, 



As in the furrows of a plow 



Fall seeds of good or crime. 



And soon the harvest of thy toil 

 Rejoicing, thou shalt reap ; 



Or o'er thy wild, neglected soil 

 Go forth in shame to weep. 



SPRING. 



THE alder by the river 

 Shakes out her powder}- curls; 

 The willow buds in silver 

 For little boys and girls. 



And buttercups are coming, 

 And scarlet columbine ; 



And in the sunny meadows 

 The dandelions shine. 



The little birds fly over, 



And, oh, how sweet they sing ! 

 To tell the happy children 



That once again 'tis spring. 



And just as many daisies 



As their soft hands can hold, 

 The little ones ma}- gather, 



All fair in white and gold. 



Thr gay green grass comes creeping 

 So soft beneath their feet ; 



The frogs begin to ripple 



A music clear and sweet. 



Here blows the warm red clover, 

 There peeps the violet blue; 

 O happy little children ! 

 , God made them all for you. 

 CELIA THAXTER. 



GOOD-BY, WINTER! 



r |^HE meadow brooks are full, and busy 



J. Getting Winter off to sea ; 

 His trunks of ice, all packed and ready, 

 Are standing under even- tree. 



Yes, hum' up, old Winter, hurry ! 



Sometime, we hope, you'll come again; 

 But here is Spring, in such a flurry, 



Keeping back her stores of rain. 



His overcoats, well aired and shaken, Well, he's off! The brooks have started ! 



Are dangling from each dripping bough ; Now the birds can come and sing, 



For he has stayed till overtaken, So welcome to the happy-hearted, 



And Spring is right upon him now ! Laughing, budding, genial Spring. 



r-i C. S. STONE. 



