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We saw the yellow wall-flower wave
Upon a mouldering castle wall,

And then we watch'd the busy rooks
Among the ancient elm-trees tall.

And leaning from the old stone bridge,
Below we saw our shadows lie,

And through the gloomy arches watch'd
The swift and fearless swallows fly.

We heard the speckle-breasted lark
As it sang somewhere out of sight,
And tried to find it, but the sky

Was fill'd with clouds of dazzling light.

We saw young

rabbits near the wood,

And heard a pheasant's wings go “whirr ; And then we saw a squirrel leap

From an old oak-tree to a fir.

We came back by the village fields,

A pleasant walk it was across 'em,

For all behind the houses lay

The orchards red and white with blossom.

Were I to tell you all we saw,

I'm sure that it would take me hours;

For the whole landscape was alive

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With bees, and birds, and buds, and flowers.



THE flowers are blooming everywhere,
On every hill and dell;

And oh, how beautiful they are,
How sweetly too they smell!

The little birds, they spring along,
And look so glad and gay ;

I love to hear their pleasant song,
I feel as glad as they.

The young lambs bleat and frisk about;
The bees hum round their hive;
The butterflies are coming out:

'Tis good to be alive!


DEAR mother, guess what I have heard!
O, it will soon be spring!
I'm sure it was a little bird,-
Mother, I heard him sing.

Look at this little piece of green


peeps out from the snow

As if it wanted to be seen,

'Twill soon be spring, I know.

And O, come here, come here and look!

How fast it runs along!—

Here is a cunning little brook;
O, hear its pretty song!

I know 'tis glad the winter 's gone
That kept it all so still,

For now it merrily runs on,
And goes just where it will.

I feel just like the brook, I know;
It says, it seems to me,-


Good-bye, cold weather, ice, and snow ;
Now girls and brooks are free.”

I love to think of what you said,
Mother, to me last night,

Of this great world that God has made,
So beautiful and bright.

And now it is the happy spring
No naughty thing I'll do ;

I would not be the only thing
That is not happy too.


THE birds are flown away,
The flowers are dead and gone,
The clouds look cold and gray
Around the setting sun.

The trees with solemn sighs.

Their naked branches swing;

The winter winds arise,

And mournfully they sing.

Upon his father's knee

Was Charley's happy place,

And very thoughtfully

He look'd up in his face;

And these his simple words :

"Father, how cold it blows!

What 'comes of all the birds

Amidst the storms and snows?"

"They fly far, far away

From storms, and snows, and rain;

But, Charley dear, next May

They'll all come back again."

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Father, that they must go?
And brings them back in May,
When there is no more snow?

"And when no flower is seen
Upon the hill and plain,
Who 'll make it all so green,
And bring the flowers again?"


My son, there is a Power

That none of us can see, Takes care of every flower, Gives life to every tree.

"He through the pathless air
Shows little birds their way;

And we, too, are his care,—
He guards us day by day."

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