74 OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 
To flit across the fading fields 
And glorify the grain. 
You leave melodious memories, 
Whose sweetness thrills me through; 
Ah! if my songs were such as yours, 
They’d almost touch the blue! 
BLUEBIRD. 
BY MAURICE THOMPSON. 
Short is his song, but strangely sweet 
To ears aweary of the low, 
Dull tramp of Winter’s sullen feet, 
Sandalled in ice and muffled in snow. 
Short is his song, but through it runs 
A hint of dithyrombs yet to be,— 
A sweet suggestiveness that has 
The influence of prophecy. 
Miss Sweet wrote upon the blackboard the follow- 
ing lines by Frank Dempster Sherman, which the 
pupils copied into their note books on the page preced- 
ing the table, together with the lines which the artist 
had placed after the table on the blackboard. 
‘* Born of the azure skies, 
His wings betray his birth; 
Earthward with song he flies, 
So Heaven comes to earth.’’ 
