THE glad days, the bright days,

The warm days, are here,

All touched with the tenderest

Sunshine and cheer.


The forest is full

Of the birds' pretty nests;

On the boughs of each tree

Some warbler's home rests.


While the sun in his march

O'er the wildwood, looks down

On as many fair homes

As he finds in the town.


And the ears of the angels

Catch music as sweet

In the aisles of the forest

As in minster or street.


One God made the singers,

One God guides the song,

And tempers the melody'

All the day long.





The Myrtle.