I smile, and then the Sun comes out; He hides away whene'er I pout; He seems a very funny sun, To do whatever he sees done. And when it rains he disappears; Like me, he can't see through the tears. Now isn't that the reason why I ought to smile and never cry? --F. D. SHERMAN If fortune, with a smiling face, Strew roses in our way, When shall we stoop to pick them up? To-day, my friend, to-day. If those who've wronged us own their faults, And kindly pity pray, When shall we listen and forgive? To-day, my friend, to-day. Are you almost disgusted with life, little man? I will tell you a wonderful trick That will bring you contentment if anything can-- Do something for somebody, quick. Are you very much tired with play, little girl? Weary, discouraged, and sick? I'll tell you the loveliest game in the world-- Do something for somebody, quick. "Were it not for me", Said a chickadee, "Not a single flower on earth would be; For under the ground they soundly sleep, And never venture an upward peep, Till they hear from me, Chickadee-dee-dee!" --SIDNEY DAYRE The world at noon belongs to the sun, At eve to the home-coming herds; But while the dew is early--very, very early-- The world belongs to the birds. As still as in a dream lie the meadows and the stream, 'Neath the soaring and outpouring of the birds. --WETHERALD I know, blue modest violets, Gleaming with dew at morn-- I know the place you come from, And the way that you are born! When God cuts holes in Heaven, The holes the stars look through, He lets the scraps fall down to earth,-- The little scraps are you. The blossoms, down in the meadow, In the gardens, and woods, and the hills, Are singing, too, with their playmates, The birds, and the breezes, and rills. And I think, if you listen closely, In the sweet glad days of spring, With the song of the brook, the breeze, and the birds, You can hear the flowers sing. --MOOREHOUSE Good-night, little shivering grasses! 'Tis idle to struggle and fight With tempest and cruel frost-fingers; Lie down, little grasses, to-night! Good-night, little shivering grasses! Lie down 'neath the coverlet white, And rest till the cuckoo is singing; Good-night, little grasses, good-night! --_A November Good-night._--BEERS