is "_Remember the poor_."

Nor would his disciple be higher than He,
Who once on the dwellings of men, for his bread,
In lowliness wrought! but contentedly, we
Will work by the light that our Master has shed.

=Song of the Bees=

We watch for the light of the morn to break,
And color the eastern sky
With its blended hues of saffron and lake;
Then say to each other, "Awake! awake!
For our winter's honey is all to make,
And our bread for a long supply!"

Then off we hie to the hill and the dell--
To the field, the meadow, and bower:
In the columbine's horn we love to dwell,--
To dip in the lily with snow-white bell,--
To search the balm in its odorous cell,
The mint, and rosemary flower.

We suck the bloom of the eglantine,--
Of the pointed thistle and brier;
And follow the track of the wandering vine,
Whether it trail on the earth, supine,
Or round the aspiring tree-top twine,
And reach for a state still higher.

As each, on the good of the others bent,
Is busy, and cares for all,
We hope for an evening with hearts content,--
That Winter may find us without lament
For a Summer that's gone, with its hours misspent,
And a harvest that's past recall!

=The Summer is Come=

CHILDHOOD'S RURAL SONG.

The Summer is come
With the insect's hum,
And the birds that merrily sing.
And sweet are the hours,
And the fruits and flowers,
That Summer has come to bring.

All nature is glad,
And the earth is clad
In her brightest and best array:
So, we with delight
Will our songs unite,
Our tribute of joy to pay.

The swallow is out,
And she sails about
In air, for the careless fly:
Then she takes a sip
With her horny lip
As she skims where the waters lie.

And the lamb bounds light
In his fleece of white,
But he doesn't know what to think,
In the streamlet clear,
Where he sees appear
His face as he stoops to drink.

For, never before
Has he gambolled o'er
The summer-dressed, flowery earth;
And he skips in play,
As he fain would say
"'Tis a season of feast and mirth."

And we have to-day
Been rambling away
To gather the flowers most fair,
Which we sat beneath
An old oak to wreath
While fanned by the balmy air.

Now the sun goes down
Like a golden crown
That's sliding behind a hill;
So we dance the while
To his farewell smile;
And well dance as the dews distil.

Then, we'll dance to-night
While t