Page 63

HER FIRST APPEARANCE. (DRAWN BY HABBY FURNISS.)

Beauty and Worth.

PASSING a cool bower where wild roses grew
And bright little violets drippiong with dew,
I heard each its own virtnes praise;
The zephyrs from woodlands all joined in the strain,
And whispering winds from te rich fields of grain,
Raised their voice in melodious lays.

Said the violet, bending its head with the dew,
"I vie with the skies in their pure, lovely blue;"
When the rose in reply then said;
"I vie with a sunset of crimson and gold,
And the richest fragrance I always unfold;"
And then proudlly bowed its fair head.

Said the zephyr, floating from woodland and glen,
"I waft the sweet notes of the little brown wren
That lulls little children to sleep.
I echo the song of the sad whippoorwill,
When hushed is the sound of the noisy old mill,
And murmur the voice of the deep."

A bright , sparkling brooklet came bounding along,
But stopped for a moment to join in the song,
And rest 'neath the shade of a tree.
Said the brooklet, "You flowers are charmingly gay,
But your life is so short, and you soon fade away,
Nor could you exist without me?

"The soft dew on your face I gave from my breast,
While I sprang gayly on without sleep or rest,
In my mirthsome, frolicsome glee;
Yes, zephyrs are pleasing enough to the ear,
But your bright little wren would perish, I fear,
Of hunger, were it not for me.

"Your song to the infant is well in its place.
But in it no strength of your own can you trace--
I lull all the songsters to sleep.
Though small, I am now, in my low winding track,
I soon with great ease, on my own foaming back,
Will cradle great ships of the deep."

Said the whispering wind, as it drifted along,
"I bring what is richer than fragrance or song--
I propel pround ships of the deep.
I come from the ripe, golden uplands of grain,
That lay o'er the soil in rich, silent train,
And from them a harvest you'll reap:

"Not like fairest flowers that charm but the eye,
And sweet, transient odors that quickly pass by,
And fade like a spark on the earth;
But nourish the yeoman that tilleth the soil,
And pay a rich ribute to labor and toil,
And in time replenish the earth."

W. J. BAILEY.