ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
IOI 
IN THE SWING. 
H ERE we go to the branches high ! 
Here we come to the branches low ! 
For the spiders and flowers and birds and I 
Love to swing- when the breezes blow. 
Swing, little bird, on the topmost bough ; 
Swing, little spider, with rope so fine ; 
Swing, little flower, for the wind blows now ; 
But none of you have such a swing as mine. 
Dear little bird, come sit on my toes; 
I’m just as careful as I can be; 
And oh, I tell you, nobody knows 
What fun we’d have if you’d play with me ! 
Come and swing with me, birdie dear, 
Bright little flower, come swing in my hair; 
But you, little spider, creepy and queer,— 
You’d better stay and swing over there ! 
The sweet little bird, he sings and sings, 
But he doesn’t even look in my face; 
The bright little blossom swings and swings,' 
But still it swings in the self-same place. 
Let them stay where they like it best; 
Let them do what they’d rather do; 
My swing is nicer than all the rest, 
But may be it’s rather small for two. 
Here we go to the branches high ! 
Here we come to the grasses low ! 
For the spiders and flowers and birds and I 
Love to swing when the breezes blow. 
Swing, little bird, on the topmost bough ; 
Swing, little spider, with rope so fine ; 
Swing, little flower, for the wind blows now ; 
But none of you have such a swing as mine. 
St. Nicholas , 1888. Eudora S. Bumsteap. 
“ Music hath charms to sooth a savage breast, 
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” 
Congreve’s The Mourning Bride. 
“The sweet Elcaya and that courteous tree 
Which bows to all who seek its canopy.’’ 
Moore’s Lalla Rookh. 
