MAY. 



"O," said the little blades of grass, 



Growing up ; 

 " O, how the spring hours pass, 



Butter-cup ! 

 Winds come and whistle, 



And birds come and sing, 

 And the early time of life 

 Is a very sunny thing !" 



" Yes," said the buttercup, and bowed 

 Very low ; — 



" And joy cometh also from a cloud. 

 As you know : 



Soft April showers, 

 And sweet drops of rain. 



How the)'^ make our faces shine 



When the sun comes out again !" 



THE days pass, and the weeks gather 

 them up, and still there is little change 

 in our garden. Cold winds by day, and light 

 frosts by night, rather chill the energies of 

 young seedlings, and they are slow to ven- 

 ture forth into such an unpromising world. 

 (70) 



