ARBOR DA V MANUAL. 
67 
THE LITTLE BROWN SEED IN THE FURROW. 
A LITTLE brown seed in the furrow 
Lay still in its gloomy bed, 
While violets blue and lilies white 
Were whispering overhead. 
They whispered of glories strange and rare. 
Of glittering dew and floating air, 
Of beauty and rapture everywhere, 
And the seed heard all they said. 
Poor little brown seed in the furrow; 
So close to the lilies’ feet, 
So far away from the great glad day, 
Where life seemed all complete | 
In her heart she treasured every word. 
And she longed for the blessings of which she heard; 
For the light that shone and the air that stirred 
In that land so wondrous sweet. 
The little brown seed in the furrow 
Was thrilled with a strange unrest; 
A warm, new life beat tremblingly 
In the tiny, heaving breast; 
With her two small hands clasped close in prayer. 
She lifted them up in the darkness there, 
Up, up, through the dark, toward sun and air. 
Her folded hands she pushed. 
O, little brown seed in the furrow, 
At last you have pierced the mold ; 
And quivering with a life intense, 
Your beautiful leaves unfold 
Like wings outspread for upward flight; 
And slowly, slowly, in dew and light 
A sweet bud opens — till, in God’s sight, 
You wear a crown of gold. 
Ida W. Benham. 
Welcome, ye shades ! ye bowery thickets hail ! 
Ye lofty Pines ! ye venerable Oaks ! 
Ye Ashes wild ! resounding o’er the steep ! 
Delicious is your shelter to the soul. 
Thomson, The Seasons. 
