ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



233 



FLOWERS OF THE MAY. 



A CALLER ! Who is it ? 

 To make me a visit, 

 Here comes little Milly ! 

 How are vou to-day ? 

 And, pray, let me ask it, 

 What is in your basket ? 

 Ah ! now I can see; 

 It is flowers of the May. 



" In nosegays you've bound them; 

 I'll guess where you found them: 



These buds on the bough 

 Of the apple tree grew: 

 And under the shadow 

 Of ferns in the meadow 



You gathered these violets, 

 Tender and blue. 



" Your flower-bed, I fancy, 

 Has given this pansy; 



And close by the road 

 Grew these buttercups wild. 

 O, flowers of the May, love, 

 Are sweet in their way, love; 



But sweeter by far 

 Is a good little child. " 



SUNSHINE. 



THE fitful April sunshine 

 Is welcome after rain; 

 She fills the earth with beauty, 



And lights it up again; 

 Her golden wand uplifted 



Sends raindrops scattering far, 

 And flowers spring to greet her, 

 Each shining like a star. 



She makes the lowliest hovels, 



Like palaces of gold, 

 Her hands are full of blessings, 



More full than they can held: 

 There's not a person sees her, 



But brighter grows his face, 

 There is no guest so cheery 



In every gloomy place. 



There is a serene and settled majesty in wood land scenery that enters into 

 the soul, and delights and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations. 



As the leaves of trees are said to absorb all noxious qualities of the air 

 and to breathe forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from 

 us all sordid and angry passions, and breathe forth peace and philanthropy. 



There is something nobly simple and pure in a taste for the cultivation of 

 forest trees. It argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature to have this 

 strong relish for the beauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the hardy 

 and glorious sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought connected with 

 this part of rural economy. It is, if I may be allowed the figure, the heroic line 

 of husbandry. It is worthy of liberal, and free-born, and aspiring men. He 

 who plants an oak, looks forward to future ages, and plants for posterity. 

 Nothing can be less selfish than this. 



IRVING. 



