h grace the palace floor;
The rainbow hues are in it all complete,
And tints, I think, of full a thousand more.

God with His hands of wind for woof collects
The forest leaves, and weaves them with the grass,
With nap of richest hues the fabric decks,
And spreads it out for feet of every class.

A haze at times may veil the smiling sky,
The sun his golden locks exchange for gray;
But soon a western blast comes sweeping by--
The mists depart, and glory crowns the day.

The lowing cattle roam from field to field;
No more content in narrow bounds to stay;
The ozone in the autumn air has healed
Their every ill, and lo, the dull beasts play.

This season has its lesson each should learn--
The fading leaf reminds us of our doom;
But whether like the stately tree, or fern,
In hope we travel onward to the tomb.

We look not for the Winter, but the Spring,
When we shall glow in beauty from the skies;
Each now his tribute sheaf of praise should bring,
Then hear his Lord's "Well done!" O glorious prize.

THE FLOWERS

Some flowers are brighter far in hue
Than others by their side,
But God baptizes all with dew,
And spreads His mantle wide
To cover all for half the day,
From rays of scorching sun,
Though some may shine in colors gay,
And some in sober dun.

And I account each one my friend,
The stately and the plain.
Diverse their hue, but not their end;
For me none bloom in vain;
For all proclaim their Maker's skill,
And point to bloom above;
In God's great plan their part fulfil,
And whisper "God is _love_."

The fragrance lades the summer air
With health-inspiring germs,
Ascend on high as nature's prayer,
Suggesting well the terms
Of God-accepted prayer from man,
Odors of grateful praise;
For though in penitence began,
It ends in joyful lays.

THE BUD

The winter through I lay asleep,
Unconscious and unseen;
The howling winds disturbed me not,
Nor felt the frost tho' keen.
Thick blankets covered me about,
And kept me dry and warm,
And weeks and months passed quickly by
And I received no harm.
At last I felt uneasy in
My cosy little cot,
Tho' it was lined with softest down.
The cause I knew not what.
I struggled hard to free myself,
But struggled all in vain;
My blankets felt the strain, 'tis true,
And opened to the rain,
But just enough for me to see
The frowning sky o'erhead;
I closed my eyes, in sad affright,