An Illustrated Monthly Rural Magazine 
-FOR EVERY ONE WHO PLANTS A SEED OR TILLS A PLANT.- 
Subscriptions 50 cents per yeas. 
-:o:- 
ADVERTISINO SPACE $5.40 PER INCH. 
VOL. $. DECEMBER, 1684. ‘ WO. XII. 
TRANSFORMED. 
BY LUCY DEWEY CLAY. 
A pearly, sparkling dew-drop 
In a lily’s cup so white, 
Reflecting golden sunbeams 
In the early morning light. 
The lily fain would cherish, 
But alas! for cloudless dawn. 
The bright sun’s rays grew warmer 
And the drop of dew is gone; 
The lily bows its head so fair, 
But the recKless sunshine does not care. 
A rose-bud sweet and blushing. 
Unfolding petals rare, 
.Exhaling richest fragrance 
Upon the summer air; 
A group of laughing youngsters 
Come mdely jostling by, 
The slender stem is sundered, 
The rose is left to die; 
The group pass out of the garden gate. 
Nor think of the rose bud’s lonely fate. 
A young and joyous maiden, 
With heart so kind and true. 
As fair as rose in summer, 
As pure as drop of dew; 
The pitiless death-angel 
His magic power tries. 
And within a white-lined casket, 
All cold and still she lies; 
And stricken hearts above her sigh 
That one so .young and fair should die. 
A mound within the church yard, 
A slab of marble white 
Bears on its face a rose-bud 
With sparkling petals bright, 
The summer sun shines o’er it. 
And theni^ht dews gently fall,' 
Then the storm-clouds darkly gather 
And the snow-wreaths cover all; 
But summer’s sun, or winter’s snow 
Are one to her who sleeps below. 
A world of dazzling beauty, 
A realm of endless day. 
Where flowers never wither, 
Nor dew-drops melt away, 
Where all is pure and holy 
And angel faces shine, 
As they gaze with joy enraptured 
On a Face and Form divine. 
And on that bright and blissful plain 
The lovely maiden lives again. 
The Lily. 
A lily of the valley 
In outline frail and dim. 
Leans from the water over 
A goblet’s fragile rim— 
Pure as th^* prayer of childhood, 
Sweet as an evening hymn. 
The slender stalk is swinging 
Its seven tiny bells, 
Like fairy chorus singing; 
And from the crystal cells 
We fancy—faint and tender— 
Aerial music swells. 
Amid the vexing problems 
And codes of men abroad. 
The tiresome creeds and systems 
Through which w r e toil and plod, 
How sweet and simple blossoms 
A perfect thought of God l 
—MyrOj Pollard. 
Christmas Chimes. 
Chime, chime, sweet Christinas bells. 
'ridings glad your music tells, 
Merry Christmas rings for all 
From the snow-wreathed steeples tall-; 
Children’s ej es shine bright as stars 
Through the cloud-tipped azure bars. 
Merry, merry Christmas day, 
Holy, happy holiday. 
