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SUMMER WOODS.

There come the little gentle birds,

Without a fear of ill;
Down to the murmuring water's edge,

And freely drink their fill;

And dash about, and splash about

The merry little things! And look askance with bright black eyes,

And flirt their dripping wings.

I've seen the freakish squirrels drop

Down from their leafy tree, The little squirrels with the old,

Great joy it was to me!

And down unto the running brook

I've seen them nimbly go;
And the bright water seem'd to speak

A welcome kind and low.

The nodding plants they bow'd their heads,

As if, in heartsome cheer,
They spake unto those little things,

“ 'Tis merry living here!"

Oh, how my heart ran o'er with joy!

I saw that all was good,
And how we might glean up delight

All round us, if we would !

And many a wood-mouse dwelleth there,

Beneath the old wood-shade, And all day long has work to do,

Nor is of aught afraid.

SAN

SUMMER VOODS.

The green shoots grow above their heads,

And roots so fresh and fine
Beneath their feet; nor is there strife

'Mong them for mine, and thine.

There is enough for every one,

And they lovingly agree :
We might learn a lesson, all of us,

Beneath the green-wood tree.

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