ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
I 77 
MOW IS THE TIME. 
T HE bud will soon become a flower, 
The flower become a seed ; 
Then seize, O j'outh ! the present hour,— 
Of that thou hast most need. 
The sun and rain will ripen fast 
Each seed that thou hast sown— 
And every act.and word at last 
By its own fruit be known. 
Do thy best always — do it now- 
For, in the present time, 
As in the furrows of a plow 
Fall seeds of good or crime. 
And soon the harvest of thy toil 
Rejoicing, thou shalt reap ; 
Or o'er thy wild, neglected soil 
Go forth in shame to weep. 
SPRING. 
T HE alder by the river 
Shakes out her powdery curls; 
The willow buds in silver 
For little boys and girls. 
The little birds fly over, 
And, oh, how sweet they sing ! 
To tell the happy children 
That once again ’tis spring. 
The gay green grass comes creeping 
So soft beneath their feet; 
The frogs begin to ripple 
A music clear and sweet. 
And buttercups are coming, 
And scarlet columbine ; 
And in the sunny meadows 
The dandelions shine. 
And just as many daisies 
As their soft hands can hold, 
The little ones may gather, 
All fair in white and gold. 
Here blows the warm red clover, 
There peeps the violet blue; 
O happy little children ! 
God made them all for you. 
Celia Thaxter. 
GOOD-BY, WINTER ! 
T HE meadow brooks are full, and busy 
Getting Winter off to sea ; 
His trunks of ice, all packed and ready. 
Are standing under every tree. 
His overcoats, well aired and shaken, 
Are dangling from each dripping bough ; 
For he has stayed till overtaken, 
And Spring is right upon him now ! 
Yes, hurry up, old Winter, hurry ! 
Sometime, we hope, you’ll come again; 
But here is Spring, in such a flurry, 
Keeping back her stores of rain. 
Well, he’s off"! The brooks have started ! 
Now the birds can come and sing, 
So welcome to the happy-hearted, 
Laughing, budding, genial Spring. 
C. S. Stone. 
