SANG the lily, and sang the rose,

Out of the heart of my garden close,

"O joy! O joy of the summer tide!"

'Sang the wind, as it moved above them,

"Roses were sent for the sun to love them,—

Dear little buds in the leaves that hide!"

Sang the trees, as they rustled together,

"Oh, the joy of the summer weather!

Roses and lilies, how do you fare?"

Sang the red rose, and sang the white:

"Glad we are of the sun's large light,

And the songs of birds that dart through the air."

Lily and rose, and tall green tree,

Swaying boughs where the bright birds nestle—

Thrilled by music and thrilled by wings,

How glad they were on that summer day!

Little they thought of cold skies and gray,

And the dreary dirge that a storm-wind sings.

Golden butterflies gleam in the sun,

Laugh at the flowers, and kiss each one,

And great bees come, with their sleepy tune,

To sip their honey and circle round;

And the flowers are lulled by that drowsy sound,

And fall asleep in the heart of the noon.

A small white cloud in a sky of blue,

Roses and lilies, what will they do?

For a wind springs up and sings in the trees!

Down comes the rain— the garden's awake,

Roses and lilies begin to quake,

That were rocked to sleep by the gentle breeze.

Ah, roses and lilies! Each delicate petal

The wind and the rain with fear unsettle;

This way and that way the tall trees sway.

But the wind goes by, and the rain stops soon,

And smiles again the face of the noon;

And the flowers are glad in the sun's warm ray.

Sing, my lilies, and sing, my roses,

With never a dream that the summer closes;

But the trees are old, and I fancy they tell,

Each unto each, how the summer flies;

They remember the last year's wintry skies.

But that summer returns the trees know well.




St. Nicholas.