MY GARDEN'S HOUR 



" OSY fingers, gently plucldug 

 Lift tlie coverlet of mist 

 From the beds of slumbering flowers 

 Dreaming dreams of love, I wist. 

 Drowsy beads in sweet confusion 

 Rise to greet the coming sun. 

 Growing bold from warm caresses 

 Yield their beauties one by one. 



Woodland notes in plaintive minor; 

 Drone of bees, the cricket's lay, 

 Form a prelude, soft, entrancing. 

 To the joyous hymn of day. 



Hark ! the feathered songster's chorus 

 Trills on high its glad refrain. 

 Awake, awake, ye sleepy mortals. 

 See the day has come again ! 



And now the trees; 



Those gTeen clad sentinals, 



Guardians of Earth's beauty store, 



AYith DaAvn's first breeze 



Their leaves a-flutter, 



SAvay and sigh, their vigil o'er. 



Oh, the wonder and the fragrance, 

 Of that early morning hour ! 

 Nature's gift to those who love her, 

 Sunrise is my garden's hour. 



Russell E. Lowe, 



3 



R 



