3^4 
ARBOR DA Y MANUAL 
Specimen Programs.-Port Henry, i\. Y.— Continued. 
4. CHORUS.— * The Class Tree. A Chorus of over four hundred voices. 
All the trees dedicated have the names of those to whom they were dedicated on the 
frame work around the trees. 
The blackboards in the High School in which the in-door exercises were held, were 
very tastefully decorated with appropriate drawings made with colored and uncolored 
crayons by our pupils. 
BELATED. 
A SINGLE buttercup I found, 
A star upon my weary way, 
As summer closed her heated round. 
And ushered in the autumn day. 
A little memory of May, 
That slept too late, as I have done, 
And so unknowingly gone astray, 
And now stood lonely in the sun. 
It seemed with anxious look to ask, 
Are all my bright companions dead ? 
Or have I slept, forgetting task, 
Until the lovely May has sped ? 
There waves around me autumn-grain ; 
I see the ripened apples shine; 
I feel the patter of the rain ; 
I see the grapes that blush with wine. 
Ay, yes, I slept, I sweetly dreamed 
Of babbling brook and azure sky. 
And in my foolish fancy deemed 
That flowers like me would never die. 
From such a dream why should I wake. 
Afar and in another zone — 
Wake only that the heart may break 
To find myself alone, alone? 
And this it is to live too long, 
To overpass our proper time, 
And hear, instead of merry song, 
The bells of death in solemn chime. 
So, too, with man ; youth slept away. 
He wakes to find a useless age, 
And wearily from day to day 
Drags out an aimless pilgrimage. 
Whittier, 
A MAY SONG. 
T HE orchard is a rosy cloud. 
The oak a rosy mist, 
And oh, the gold of the buttercups 
The morning sun has kissed ! 
There are twinkling shadows on the grass 
Of a myriad tiny leaves, 
And a twittering loud from the busy crowd 
That build beneath the eaves. 
Then sing, happy children. 
The bird and bee are here. 
The May time is a gay time. 
The blossom lime o' the year . 
St, Nicholas, May, 1889 . 
A message comes across the fields. 
Borne on the balmy air, 
For all the little seeking hands 
There are flowers enough and to spare. 
Hark ! a murmuring in the hive,— 
List! a carol clear and sweet,— 
While feathered throats the thrilling notes 
A thousand times repeat. 
Then sing, happy children. 
The bird and bee are here. 
The May time is a gay time. 
The blossom time o' the year. 
Anna M. Pratt. 
