There came to my window one morning in Spring
A sweet little Robin; she came there to sing.
The tune that she sang, it was prettier far
Than any I heard on the flute or guitar.
Her wings she was spreading to soar far away,
Then resting a moment seemed sweetly to say:
“Oh happy, how happy the world seems to be!
Awake, Little Girl and be happy with me!”
But just as she finished her beautiful song,— Anonymous
A thoughtless young man with a gun came along.
He killed and he carried my sweet bird away,
She no more will sing at the dawn of the day.
In the heart of a seed,
Buried deep, so deep,
A dear little plant
Lay fast asleep!
“Wake!” said the sunshine,
“And creep to the light!”
“Wake!” said the voice
Of the raindrop bright.
The little plant heard— Kate L. Brown
And it rose to see
What the wonderful
Outside world might be.
(SONG OF SOLOMON, ii. 12.)
Now the winter cold is past,
And blithe March winds are blowing,
In sheltered nooks we find at last
Bright flowers of spring are growing.
Along the hedge-row’s mossy bank,
Where ivy green is creeping,
We see through weeds and nettles rank
The dark-blue vi-o-let peeping.
And in the sunny garden beds
Gay aconites are showing,
And snowdrops bend their graceful heads,
And crocuses are glowing.
God makes the buds and leaves unfold,–anonymous
All flowers are of His giving;
He guards them through the winter’s cold,
He cares for all things living.
Down in a green and shady bed
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,
As if to hide from view.
And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colors bright and fair!
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.
Yet there it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused its sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.
Then let me to the valley go,–Jane Taylor
This pretty flower to see,
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.
I know the song that the bluebird is singing,
Out in the apple-tree where he is swinging;
Brave little fellow, the skies may look dreary;
Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery.
Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat,
Hark! was there ever so merry a note?
Listen awhile and you’ll hear what he’s saying,
Up in the apple-tree swinging and swaying.
“Dear little blossoms down under the snow,
You must be weary of winter, I know;
Hark, while I sing you a message of cheer;
Summer is coming and spring-time is here!
“Little white snowdrop! I pray you arise;–Emily Huntington Miller
Bright yellow crocus! come, open your eyes;
Sweet little violets, hid from the cold,
Put on your mantles of purple and gold;
Daffodils! daffodils! say, do you hear?—
Summer is coming and spring-time is here!”