“The swallow comes with its bit of clay, When the busy Spring is here. And twittering bears the moistened gift A nest on the eaves to rear; The twinkling feet of flock and herd Have trodden a path to me, And the fox and the squirrel come to drink In the shade of the alder-tree. “The sunburnt child, with its rounded foot, Comes hither with me to play, And I feel the thrill of his lightsome heart As he dashes the merry spray. I turn the mill with answering glee, As the merry spokes go round, And the gray rock takes the echo up, Rejoicing in the sound. “The old man bathes his scattered locks, And drops me a silent tear―― For he sees a wrinkled, careworn face Look up from the waters clear. Then I sing in his ear the very song He heard in years gone by; The old man’s heart is glad again, And a joy lights up his eye.” Enough, enough, thou homily brook! I’ll treasure thy teachings well, And I will yield a heartfelt tear Thy crystal drops to swell; Will bear like thee a kindly love For the lowly things of earth, Remembering still that high and pure Is the home of the spirit’s birth. * * * * * THE APRIL RAIN. THE April rain――the April rain―― I hear the pleasant sound; Now soft and still, like little dew, Now drenching all the ground. Pray tell me why an April shower Is pleasanter to see Than falling drops of other rain? I’m sure it is to me. I wonder if ’tis really so―― Or only hope the while, That tells of swelling buds and flowers, And Summer’s coming smile. Whate’er it is, the April shower Makes me a child again; I feel a rush of youthful blood Come with the April rain. And sure, were I a little bulb Within the darksome ground, I should love to hear the April rain So gently falling round; Or any tiny flower were I, By Nature swaddled up, How pleasantly the April shower Would bathe my hidden cup! The small brown seed, that rattled down On the cold autumnal earth, Is bursting from its cerements forth, Rejoicing in its birth. The slender spears of pale green grass Are smiling in the light, The clover opes its folded leaves As if it felt delight. The robin sings on the leafless tree, And upward turns his eye, As loving much to see the drops Come filtering from the sky; No doubt he longs the bright green leaves About his home to see, And feel the swaying summer winds Play in the full-robed tree.