THE SQUIRREL.

“Squirrel, squirrel, brown and brisk,
High above me in the tree,
I can see you bound and frisk,
I can see you peep at me.

“Squirrel, squirrel, you can play;
Mer-rier beast is none than you;
Yet you are not only gay,
You are wise and mer-ry too.

You can play till summer’s o’er,
And the nuts come falling free,
Then to hoard your winter store
You are busy as a bee.

“Squirrel, squirrel, I would bound
Gai-ly at my sports as you,
And, like you, I would be found
Careful for the future too.”

— anonymous

“HOW IS THE WEATHER?”

Cold winter has come,
And the cruel winds blow—
The trees are all leafless and brown;
These two pretty robins,
Oh, where shall they go
To shelter their little brown heads from the snow?
Just look at the flakes coming down.

But see, they have found a snug shelter at last,
And hark, how they talk, while the storm whistles past:

Says Polly to Dicky,
“You’re nearest the door,
And you are the gentleman, too:
Just peep out and see
When the storm will be o’er;
Be-cause, if the weather’s as bad as before,
I think we will stay, do not you?”

–Anonymous