216 ARBOR DAY 



Only a zephyr that may blow 

 Among the reeds by the river low; 

 Give me thy most privy place 

 Where to run my airy race. 



In some withdrawn, unpublic mead 

 Let me sigh upon a reed, 

 Or in the woods, with leafy din, 

 Whisper the still evening in: 

 Some still work give me to do 

 Only be it near to you! 



For I'd rather be thy child 

 And pupil, in the forest wild, 

 Than be the king of men elsewhere, 

 And most sovereign slave of care: 

 To have one moment of thy dawn, 

 Than share the city's year forlorn. 



THE LITTLE LEAF 



BY HENRY WARD BEECHER 



ONCE on a time a little leaf was heard to sigh and 

 cry, as leaves often do when a gentle wind is about. 

 And the twig said : 



"What is the matter, little leaf?" 



"The wind," said the leaf, "just told me that one 

 day it would pull me off, and throw me down to the 

 ground to die!" 



