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ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



A MAY MORNING. 



OLADY, leave thy silken thread 

 And flowery tapestry ; 

 There's living roses on the bush, 



And blossoms on the tree ; 

 Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand 



Some random bud will meet ; 

 Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find 

 The daisy at thy feet. 



Tis like the birthday of the world, 



When earth was here in bloom ; 

 The light is made of many dyes, 



The air is all perfume ; 

 There's crimson buds, and white and blue 



The very rainbow showers 

 Have turned to blossoms where they fell, 



And sown the earth with flowers. 



There's fairy tulips in the east, 



The garden of the sun ; 

 The very streams reflect the hues 



And blossom as they run ; 

 While morn opes like a crimson rose, 



Still wet with pearly showers ; 

 Then, lady, leave the silken thread 



Thou twinest into flowers 



PUT FLOWERS IN YOUR WINDOW. 



PUT flowers in j'our window, friend, 

 And summer in your heart ; 

 The greenness of their mimic boughs 

 Is of the woods a part ; 

 The color of their tender bloom 

 Is love's own pleasing hue, 

 As surely as you smile on them, 

 They'll smile again on you. 



Put flowers in your window, when 



You sit in idle mood ; 



For wholesome, mental aliment, 



There is no cheaper food. 



For love and hope and charity 



Are in their censer shrined, 



And shapes of loveliest thought grow out 



The flower-loving mind." 



Yes, I love the children of the woodlands, of the highlands and the lowlands. Espec- 

 ially those first heralds of spring that come forth with all her newness and dewy freshness, 

 that quickening of life that makes one's pulses bound. Yes, 



" There is to me 



A daintiness about these early flowers, 

 That touch me like poetry. They blow out 

 With such a simple loveliness among 

 The common herbs of pasture, and they breathe 

 Their lives so unobtrusively, like hearts 

 Whose beatings are too gentle for the world." 



MRS. G. W. FLANDERS. 



