Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern, And spread out your palms again, And say, "Tho' the sun Hath my vesture spun, He had laboured, alas, in vain, But for the shade That the Cloud hath made, And the gift of the Dew and the Rain,"

Then laugh and upturn All your fronds, little Fern, And rejoice in the beat of the rain!

John B. Tabb.

_The Violet_

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 color 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, This pretty flower to see, That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility.

Jane Taylor.

_Daffy-Down-Dilly_

Daffy-down-dilly Came up in the cold, Through the brown mould, Although the March breezes Blew keen on her face, Although the white snow Lay on many a place.

Daffy-down-dilly Had heard under ground, The sweet rushing sound Of the streams, as they broke From their white winter chains, Of the whistling spring winds And the pattering rains.

"Now then," thought Daffy, Deep down in her heart, "It's time I should start."

So she pushed her soft leaves Through the hard frozen ground, Quite up to the surface, And then she looked round.

There was snow all about her, Gray clouds overhead; The trees all looked dead: Then how do you think Poor Daffy-down felt, When the sun would not shine, And the ice would not melt?

"Cold weather!" thought Daffy, Still working away; "The earth's hard to-day!

There's but a half inch Of my leaves to be seen, And two thirds of that Is more yellow than green.

"I can't do much yet; But I'll do what I can: It's well I began!

For, unless I can manage To lift up my head, The people will think That the Spring herself's dead."

So, little by little, She brought her leaves out, All cl.u.s.tered about; And then her bright flowers Began to unfold, Till Daffy stood robed In her spring green and gold.

O Daffy-down-dilly, So brave and so true!

I wish all were like you!-- So ready for duty In all sorts of weather, And loyal to courage And duty together.

Anna B. Warner.

_Baby Corn_

A happy mother stalk of corn Held close a baby ear, And whispered: "Cuddle up to me, I'll keep you warm, my dear.

I'll give you petticoats of green, With many a tuck and fold To let out daily as you grow; For you will soon be old."

A funny little baby that, For though it had no eye, It had a hundred mouths; 'twas well It did not want to cry.

The mother put in each small mouth A hollow thread of silk, Through which the sun and rain and air Provided baby's milk.

The petticoats were gathered close Where all the threadlets hung.

And still as summer days went on To mother-stalk it clung; And all the time it grew and grew-- Each kernel drank the milk By day, by night, in shade, in sun, From its own thread of silk.

And each grew strong and full and round, And each was shining white; The gores and seams were all let out, The green skirts fitted tight.

The ear stood straight and large and tall, And when it saw the sun, Held up its emerald satin gown To say: "Your work is done."

"You're large enough," said Mother Stalk, "And now there's no more room For you to grow." She tied the threads Into a soft brown plume-- It floated out upon the breeze To greet the dewy morn, And then the baby said: "Now I'm A full-grown ear of corn!"

Unknown.

_A Child's Fancy_

O little flowers, you love me so, You could not do without me; O little birds that come and go, You sing sweet songs about me; O little moss, observed by few, That round the tree is creeping, You like my head to rest on you, When I am idly sleeping.

O rushes by the river side, You bow when I come near you; O fish, you leap about with pride, Because you think I hear you; O river, you shine clear and bright, To tempt me to look in you; O water-lilies, pure and white, You hope that I shall win you.

O pretty things, you love me so, I see I must not leave you; You'd find it very dull, I know, I should not like to grieve you.

Don't wrinkle up, you silly moss; My flowers, you need not shiver; My little buds, don't look so cross; Don't talk so loud, my river.

And I will make a promise, dears, That will content you, maybe; I'll love you through the happy years, Till I'm a nice old lady!

True love (like yours and mine) they say Can never think of ceasing, But year by year, and day by day, Keeps steadily increasing.

"A."

_Little Dandelion_

Gay little Dandelion Lights up the meads, Swings on her slender foot, Telleth her beads, Lists to the robin's note Poured from above: Wise little Dandelion Asks not for love.

Cold lie the daisy banks Clothed but in green, Where, in the days agone, Bright hues were seen.