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ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



THE LITTLE PINE TREE. 



ONCE a little Pine tree, 

 In the forest ways, 

 Sadly sighed and murmured, 



Thro' the summer days. 

 " I am clad in needles 



Hateful things ! " he cried ; 

 " Ail the trees about me 



Laugh in scornful pride. 

 Broad their leaves and fair to see ; 

 Worthless needles cover me. 



" Ah, could I have chosen, 



Then, instead of these, 

 Shining leaves should crown me, 



Shaming all the trees. 

 Broad as theirs and brighter, 



Dazzling to behold ; 

 All of gleaming silver 



Nay, of burnished gold. 

 Then the rest would weep and sigh 

 None would be so fine as I." 



Slept the little Pine tree 



When the night came down, 

 While the leaves he wished for 



Budded on his crown. 

 All the forest wondered, 



At the dawn, to see 

 What a golden fortune 



Decked this little tree. 

 Then he sang and laughed aloud ; 

 Glad was he and very proud. 



Foolish little Pine tree ! 



At the close of day, 

 Thro' the gloomy twilight, 



Came a thief that way. 

 Soon the treasure vanished ; 



Sighed the Pine, u Alas ! 

 Would that I had chosen 



Leaves of crystal glass." 

 Long and bitterly he wept, 

 But with night again he slept. 

 St. Nicholas, May, 1889. 



When our wide woods and mighty lawns 

 Bloom to the April skies, 



Gladly in the dawning 



Did he wake to find 

 That the gentle fairies 



Had again been kind. 

 How his blazing crystals 



Lit the morning air ! 

 Never had the forest 



Seen a sight so fair. 

 Then a driving storm did pass ; 

 All his leaves were shattered glass. 



Humbly said the Pine tree, 



" I have learned 't is best 

 Not to wish for fortunes 



Fairer than the rest. 

 Glad were I, and thankful, 



If I might be seen, 

 Like the trees about me, 



Clad in tender green." 

 Once again he slumbered, sad ; 

 Once again his wish he had. 



Broad his leaves and fragrant, 



Rich were they and fine, 

 Till a goat at noon-day 



Halted there to dine. 

 Then her kids came skipping 



Round the fated tree ; 

 All his leaves could scarcely 



Make a meal for three. 

 Every tender bud was nipt, 

 Every branch and twig was stript. 



Then the wretched Pine tree 



Cried in deep despair, 

 ' Would I had my needles ; 



They were green and fair. 

 Never would I change them," 



Sighed the little tree ; 

 ' Just as nature gave them 



They were the best for me." 

 So he slept, and waked, and found 

 All his needles safe and sound ! 



EUDORA S. BUMSTEAD. 



The earth has no more gorgeous sight 



To show to human eyes. 

 **#*# 



BRYANT. 



