One to the other gently speaks, As March winds blanch her tender cheeks: “Dear sister, it is cold today, But yet I think we here may stay; The earth is bleak, and dark and chill, All other flowers are sleeping still, But we’ll remain awhile to sing In token of the coming spring.” The sister softly makes reply: “We’ll bloom together, you and I, And send our choicest perfume out To gladden mortals round about; I’m sure they must be weary now Of winter’s dismal, icy brow, And longing for the breath of flowers, So we will stay and offer ours.” And so the dainty blossoms braved The snow and sleet, and only craved A tiny place to fill with bloom, And scatter forth their rich perfume; And many hearts that yearned for spring, And all the beauties she would bring, Gave blessing to the little flowers, As heralds of her fragrant hours. AN EVENING SONG. Rest, rest sweet hours of the day, Your moments, filled with toil and play, Have wandered far since morning’s sun, But now their journeyings are done; Rest, precious hours, bright and fair, Let no rude touch of pain and care Disturb your well-earned calm repose, The world its friendship to you owes. Hail! peaceful hours of the night Attended by yon stars so bright, You come with quiet steps to earth, And silent tones of woe or mirth; We give you welcome, for you bring The balm of sleep upon your wing, With which to touch our weary eyes Until all sense of weakness flies. Oh, we are little children small, And yet we love the hours all,— Those of the bright and shining day That fly in happiness away; And those that wander through the night To give us visions of delight, And show us in each pleasant dream The world where heavenly mansions gleam. CHILDREN. Everywhere we hear the voices Of the children, glad and free, Shouting, chatting, laughing, talking, Ringing out in merry glee; Everywhere we hear the patter Of their busy little feet, Romping over hills and meadows, Rushing through the city street.