FLOWERS BY THE POETS. 
3 * 
THE VOICE OF THE GRASS. 
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere, 
By the dusty roadside, 
On the sunny hillside, 
Close by the noisy brook, 
In every shady nook, 
I come creeping, creeping everywhere. 
* * * * 
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; 
You cannot hear me coming 
Nor hear my low sweet humming ; 
For, in the starry night, 
And the glad morning light, 
I come quietly creeping everywhere. 
* * * * 
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; 
My humble spng of praise 
Most joyfully I raise 
To Him at whose command 
I beauty the land, 
Creeping, silently creeping everywhere. 
Sarah Roberts. 
LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
The Lily in whose snow-white bells 
Simplicity delights and dwells. 
Balfour. 
