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They take the sickle from the wall
When morning dews shine pearly; And the mower whets the ringing scythe, To cut the bearded barley.
Come, then, into the harvest fields;
EACH little mouse with eye so clear,
Who keeps him warm and brings him bread, He doth nor cold nor hunger dread.
poor dear little bird we see
There is no painted butterfly,
No creature in the world we find
And who such care for all doth take?
And careth night and day for me.
FROM THE GERMAN.
THE frost looked forth one still clear night, And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight; So thro' the valley, and over the height,
In silence I'll take my way.
I will not go on like that blustering train,
Then he flew to the mountain and powdered its crest;
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest In diamond beads-and over the breast
Of the quivering lake, he spread
A coat of mail that need not fear
He went to the window of those who slept,
Most beautiful things-there were flowers and trees;
There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees; There were cities with temples, and towers and these
All pictured in silver sheen!
But he did one thing that was hardly fair;
That all had forgotten for him to prepare, "Now just to set them a thinking, I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he, "This costly pitcher I'll burst in three ; And this glass of water they've left for me, Shall 'tchiek' to tell them I'm drinking." GOULD.
THE BIRD OF PASSAGE.
SWEET wanderer! the gentle Spring
Nay, tarry not! the primrose pale
The trees that were so dead and sere,
Where art thou lingering? in some clime,
There, in some scented orange grove,
How sweetly, wanderer, canst thou rove, And pour thy melody!
Or, gliding o'er the crystal stream,