M. N.

SEVEN TIMES ONE

HERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover,

THE

There's no rain left in heaven:

I've said my "seven times" over and over

Seven times one are seven.

I am old, so old I can write a letter;

My birthday lessons are done;

The lambs play always, they know no better-
They are only one times one.

Oh, Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing
And shining so round and low;

You were bright-ah, bright! but your light is
failing-

You are nothing now but a bow.

You Moon, have you done something wrong in heaven,

That God has hidden your face?

I hope you if have you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.

Oh, velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow;
You've powdered your legs with gold!
Oh, brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!

Oh, columbine, open your folded wrapper,
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell!

Oh, cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clapper

That hangs in your clear

green bell!

And show me your nest, with the young ones in it—

I will not steal it away;

I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet—

I am seven times one to-day.

-Jean Ingelow

THE

money

They took some honey, and plenty of
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the moon above,
And sang to a small guitar,

"Oh, lovely Pussy! Oh, Pussy, my love!
What a beautiful Pussy you are—

You are,

What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
How wonderful sweet you sing!

Oh, let us be married-too long we have tarried-
But what shall we do for a ring?"

They sailed away for a year and a day
To the land where the Bong-tree grows,
And there in a wood a piggy-wig stood
With a ring in the end of his nose-
His nose,

With a ring in the end of his nose.

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?" Said the piggy, "I will."
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the turkey who lives on the hill.

They dined upon mince and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon,

And hand in hand on the edge of the sand
They danced by the light of the moon-
The moon,

They danced by the light of the moon.

THE

THE TREE

'HE Tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their brown; "Shall I take them away?" said the Frost, sweeping

down.

"No, leave them alone

Till the blossoms have grown,"

Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to

crown.

The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung: "Shall I take them away?" said the Wind, as he swung. "No, leave them alone

Till the berries have grown,'

Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung.

The Tree bore his fruit in the midsummer glow: Said the girl, "May I gather thy berries now?" "Yes, all thou canst see:

Take them; all are for thee,"

Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low.

-Bjornstjerne Bjornson.