236 



ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



THE BLUSHING MAPLE TREE. 



WHEN on the world's first harvest day, 

 The forest trees before the Lord 

 Laid down their autumn offerings 



Of fruit in sunshine stored, 

 The maple only, of them all, 



Before the world's great harvest King, 

 With empty hands and silent stood 



She had no offering to bring; 

 For in the early summer time, 



While other trees laid by their hoard, 

 The maple winged her fruit with love, 



And sent it daily to the Lord. 



There ran through all the leafy wood 



A murmur and a scornful smile, 

 But silent still the maple stood, 



And looked to God the while. 

 And then, while fell on earth a hush, 



So great it seemed like death to be, 

 From His white throne the mighty Lord 



Stooped down and kissed the maple tree; 

 At that swift kiss there sudden thrilled, 



In every nerve, thro' ever}' vein, 

 An ecstacy of joy so great 



It seemed almost akin to pain. 



And there before the forest trees, 



Blushing and pale by turns she stood; 

 In ev'ry leaf, now red and gold, 



She knew the kiss of God. 

 And still, when comes the autumn time, 



And on the hills the harvest lies, 

 Blushing, the maple tree recalls 



Her life's one beautiful surprise. 



A DREAM OF SUMMER. 



BLAND as the morning breath of June, 

 The south-west breezes play; 

 And, through its haze, the winter noon 



Seems warm as summer's da}'. 

 The snow-plumed angel of the north 



Has dropped his icy spear; 

 Again the mossy earth looks forth, 

 Again the streams gush clear. 



So, in those winters of the soul, 



By bitter blasts and drear, 

 O'erswept from memory's frozen pole, 



Will sunny days appear. 

 Reviving hope and faith, they show 



The soul its living powers. 

 And how beneath the winter's snow 



Lie germs of summer flowers ! 



The fox his hillside cell forsakes, 



The muskrat leaves his nook, 

 The bluebird in the meadow brakes 



Is singing with the brook. 

 Bear up, O Mother Nature ! " cry 



Bird, breeze, and streamlet free; 

 Our winter voices prophesy 



Of summer days to thee ! " 



The night is mother of the day, 



The winter of the spring, 

 And ever upon old decay 



The greenest mosses cling. 

 Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, 



Through showers the sunbeams fall; 

 For God, who loveth all His works, 



Has left His hope with all. 



WlIITTIER. 



