Jane is culling foxglove bells;
May and I are making posies,
And we want to search the dells,

For the latest summer roses."

-Mrs. Hawtrey.

LITTLE WHITE LILY.

LITTLE White Lily

Sat by a stone,

Drooping and waiting

Till the sun shone.
Little white Lily
Sunshine has fed ;
Little white Lily
Is lifting her head.

Little white Lily
Said, "It is good-
Little white Lily's
Clothing and food."
Little white Lily

Drest like a bride!

Shining with whiteness,
And crowned beside !

Little white Lily
Droopeth with pain,
Waiting and waiting
For the wet rain.
Little white Lily
Holdeth her cup;
Rain is fast falling
And filling it up.

Purple with the north wind,
Yet alert and bold,

Fearing not, and caring not,
Though they be a-cold.

What to them is weather?

What are stormy showers? Buttercups and Daisies,

Are these human flowers!
He who gave them hardship,
And a life of care,

Gave them likewise hardy strength,
And patient hearts to bear!

Welcome, yellow Buttercups!
Welcome, Daisies white !
Ye are in my spirit

Visioned, a delight!
Coming ere the spring-time
Of sunny hours to tell;

Speaking to our hearts of Him
Who doeth all things well.

LITTLE DANDELION.

GAY little Dandelion

Lights up the meads, Swings on her slender foot, Telleth her beads,

Lists to the robin's note

Poured from above:

Wise little Dandelion

Asks not for love.

Mary Howitt.

Meek little Dandelion
Groweth more fair,

Till dies the amber dew
Out from her hair.
High rides the thirsty sun,

Fiercely and high;
Faint little Dandelion
Closeth her eye.

Pale little Dandelion,

In her white shroud,
Heareth the angel-breeze
Call from the cloud!
Tiny plumes fluttering
Make no delay!

Little winged Dandelion
Soareth away.

Helen B. Bostwick.

THE BRAMBLE-FLOWER.

THY fruit full well the school-boy knows,
Wild bramble of the brake!

So put thou forth thy small white rose,
I love it for his sake.

Though woodbines flaunt, and roses glow

Through all the fragrant bowers, Thou need'st not be ashamed to show

Thy satin-threaded flowers:

For dull the eye, the heart is dull,

That cannot feel how fair, Amid all beauty beautiful

Thy tender blossoms are.