But man feels a burden of care and of grief,

While plucking the cluster and binding the sheaf;
In the summer we faint, in the winter we 're chilled;
With ever a void that is yet to be filled,

We take from the ocean, the earth and the air,
Yet all their rich gifts do not silence our care.
"A very small portion sufficient will be,
If sweetened with gratitude, Pee, dee, dee.”

I thank thee, bright monitor; what thou hast taught,
Will oft be the theme of the happiest thought;

We look at the clouds, while the birds have an eye
To Him who reigns over them, changeless and high.
And now, little hero, just tell me thy name,
That I may be sure whence my oracle came.
"Because in all weather I'm merry and free,"
They call me the Winter-King, Pee, dee, dee.”

But soon there'll be snow, weighing down the light bough,

On which thou art flitting so playfully now;

And though there's a vesture well fitted and warm, Protecting the rest of thy delicate form,

What then wilt thou do with thy little bare feet,

To save them from pain 'mid the frost and the sleet? "I can draw them right up in my feathers you see, To warm them, and fly away, Pee, dee, dee.”

MISS H. F. GOULD.

'T WAS in the Spring-time of the year,
The latter part of May,

When two small birds, with merry cheer,
Came to our house one day.

I watched them with a loving smile,
As they glanced in and out,
And in their busy, chirping style,
Went peering all about.

I knew that they would build a nest;

And joy it was to me,

That the place they liked the best,
Beneath our roof should be.

The green boughs of a tall old tree
Gave them a pleasant shade,

While, through an arch, they well could see
Where sun and river played.

And here they came in sunny hours,
And here their nest they made,
Safe, as if hid in greenwood bowers,
For none their will gainsaid.

I think they felt a friendly sphere,
And knew we loved them dearly;
For they seemed to have no thought of fear,
And planned their household cheerly.

They fanned me with their busy wings,
And buzzed about my head;
Never were such familiar things

In field or forest bred.

The father was a gentle bird,

Right gracefully he wooed,
And softer notes were never heard,

Than to his mate he cooed.

And, when their clay-built nest she lined,
He'd go in sunny weather,

And search and search, till he could find

Some little downy feather.

Then high would swell his loving breast,

He felt so very proud,

And he would sidle to the nest,

And call to her aloud.

AUNT MARIA'S SWALLOWS.

And she would raise her glossy head,
And make a mighty stir,

To see if it were hair or thread
That he had brought for her.

And she would take it from his bill,
With such an easy grace,

As courtly beauties sometimes will
Accept a veil of lace.

They did not know, the pretty things,
How beautiful they were!
Whether they moved with rapid wings,
Or balanced on the air.

And yet they almost seemed to know
They had a winsome grace;

As if they meant to make a show,
They'd choose their resting-place.

On a suspended hoop they'd swing,
Sway'd by the buoyant air,

Or, perched on upright hoe, would sing
Songs of a loving pair.

The lover proved a husband kind,

Attentive to his mate;

He helped her when the nest was lined,
And never staid out late.

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And while she hatched, with patient care,

He took his turn to brood,

That she might skim along the air,
To find her needful food.

He did it with an awkward hop,
And the eggs seemed like to break,
Just as some clumsy man would mop,
Or thread and needle, take.

But there with patient love he sat,
And kept the eggs right warm,
And sharply watched for dog or cat,

Until his mate's return.

And when the young birds broke the shell,
He took a generous share

In her hourly task to feed them well,
With insects from the air

But when they taught the brood to fly, 'T was curious to see

How hard the parent birds would try,

And twitter coaxingly.

From beam to beam, from floor to nest,

With eager haste they flew;

They could not take a moment's rest,
They had so much to do.