IN SUMMER

When all the roads are white with dust,
And thirsty flowers complain,
Our little lassie cries, "I must
Go carry round the rain."

As up and down the garden plots
With busy feet she treads,
The pansies and forget-me-nots
Lift up their drooping heads.

She waters all the lilies tall,
The fragrant mignonette,
And hollyhocks beside the wall--
Not one does she forget.

What wonder that her garden grows
And blooms, and blooms again,
When every grateful blossom knows
Who "carries round the rain!"

HANNAH G. FERNALD.

OUR LITTLE BROOK

Our little brook just sings and sings
In such a happy way,
I'd love to sit beside it,
And listen all the day.

In spring it has a merry sound,
I know the reason why--
Because the ice has gone and now
The brook can see the sky.

It loves to glisten in the sun
And sparkle in its light.
I'm sure it loves the silvery moon
And sings to it at night.

The summer song is not so gay,
The brook is now quite still,
With here and there a darling song
Sung by a tiny rill.

I love to watch the bubbles float,
I wonder where they go,
I see the little "skaters"
All darting to and fro.

When leaves are falling from the trees
As fast as they can fall,
I love to sail them in the brook--
Though there's not room for all.

They sail like little fairy boats
And start out merrily,
But sometimes find a stopping place
Before they reach the sea.

The winter brook is soon with ice
All covered up with care,
But I can hear a tiny voice,
I know the brook is there!

EDITH DUNHAM.

THE PINEWOOD PEOPLE

When winds are noisy-winged and high,
And crystal-clear the day,
Down where the forest meets the sky
The Pinewood People play.

Far off I see them bow, advance,
Swing partners and retreat,
As though some slow, old-fashioned dance
Had claimed their tripping feet.

Or hand to hand they wave, and so,
With dip and bend and swing,
Through "tag" and "hide" and "touch and go"
They flutter, frolicking.

But when I run to join the play,
I find my search is vain.
Always they see me on the way,
And change to pines again.

ELIZABETH THORNTON TURNER.

THE STUDENTS

I say to Tommy every day,
"Now let us read awhile,"
But Tommy doesn't like to read,