The Child and the Lily.*

BRYANT.

NNOCENT children and snow-white flower!

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Well are ye paired in your opening hour, Thus should the pure and lovely meet,

Stainless with stainless, and sweet with sweet.

White as those leaves just blown apart,
Are the folds of thy own young heart;
Guilty passion and cankering care
Never have left their traces there.

Artless one! though thou gazest now

O'er the white blossoms with earnest brow,
Soon will it tire thy childish eye,

Fair as it is, thou wilt throw it by.

Throw it aside in thy weary hour,

Throw to the ground the fair white flower;
Yet, as thy tender years depart,

Keep that white and innocent heart.

*By permission of D. Appleton & Co., publishers.

Grow, and Keep on Growing.*

THE

HE sun shone out on a clear March day,
And sent his beams, so cheery,

Straight from the heavens so far away

Through a snow-bank damp and dreary,
Down, down and down through the forest mold,
Though the chill west winds were blowing,
And said to the small seeds hidden there,
"Grow, and keep on growing."

The seeds sprang up at the earnest call,
And the white roots burrowed lowly,
In the deep, damp soil, poor patient things,
But the plants crept upward slowly;
They timidly peeped above the ground,
And sighed, "It has just been snowing;
We'll snuggle back," but the sun sent word,
"Grow, and keep on growing."

Then the tiny mouths of the slender roots
Drank of the moisture springing
Amid the moss-the earth's sweet soil,
The food for their fruitage bringing.
But creeping thus in the dark, they found

Boulders their path bestrewing;

"We'll rest," they said; but the sun said, "No!

Grow, and keep on growing."

*From Fairy Land of Flowers, by permission of Educational Publishing Co.

Then upward shot a spire of leaves,
And there 'neath the sun unfolding,
A tiny Oak spread its branching boughs,
A sight well worth beholding.

Soon tow'ring high,-a forest king-
It made a noble showing,

Through heeding this earnest message well,
"Grow, and keep on growing."

If a weight of woe or the winds of care
Check the soul in its upward springing,
Send the roots of the heart to take stronger hold,
A sweeter nutrition bringing,

Then fill the soul with all right desires,

Aspire-for there is no knowing

How high shall mount the soul that strives

To grow, and keep on growing.

The Corn Song.*

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

EAP high the farmer's wintry hoard!
Heap high the golden corn!
No richer gift has Autumn poured
From out her lavish horn!

Let other lands, exulting, glean
The apple from the pine,
The orange from its glossy green,
The cluster from the vine;

We better love the hardy gift

Our rugged vales bestow,

To cheer us when the storm shall drift
Our harvest-fields with snow.

Through vales of grass and meads of flowers,
Our ploughs their furrows made,

While on the hills the sun and showers
Of changeful April played.

We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain,
Beneath the sun of May,

And frightened from our sprouting grain
The robber crows away.

* By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co.,

All through the long, bright days of June
Its leaves grew green and fair,
And waved in hot midsummer's noon
Its soft and yellow hair.

And now, with autumn's moonlit eves,
Its harvest time has come,

We pluck away the frosted leaves,
And bear the treasure home.

There, richer than the fabled gift
Apollo showered of old,

Fair hands the broken grain shall sift,
And knead its meal of gold.

Let vapid idlers loll in silk

Around their costly board;
Give us the bowl of samp and milk,
By homespun beauty poured!

Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth
Sends up its smoky curls,

Who will not thank the kindly earth,
And bless our farmer girls?

Then shame on all the proud and vain,
Whose folly laughs to scorn
The blessing of our hardy grain,

Our wealth of golden corn!

Let earth withhold her goodly root,
Let mildew blight the rye,

Give to the worm the orchard's fruit,
The wheat-field to the fly: