I feel the warm west wind fan gently my cheek
As I sit on the grass, far too happy to speak;
And then in the twilight I see the faint spark
Of the fire-fly, flitting alone in the dark.

Oh! long happy days, when ’tis full of delight
To roam in the meadows from morning till night! 
Oh! summer, sweet summer! glide slowly away,
For I love in your warmth and your fragrance to stay.

[Illustration]

AUTUMN.

[Illustration]

Here’s the purple aster,
  And the golden-rod,
And the blue fringed gentian,
  By the meadow sod.

And the scarlet cardinal
  Grows beside the brook,
And the yellow sunflower
  In some sheltered nook.

Maple boughs are covered
  With their foliage red,
And the withered elm leaves
  On the ground lie dead.

And within the orchard,
  Heavy-laden trees
Shower down the apples,
  With each passing breeze.

So by these we know thee,
  Lovely autumn time,
With thy deep blue heavens,
  And thy snowy rime.

And we gladly greet thee,
  With thy colors gay,
Though thou tell’st us summer
  Hence hath fled away.

WINTER.

[Illustration]

With my breath so keen and chilling,
  I have stripped the branches bare;
And my snow-flakes white are filling,
  Feather-like, the frosty air.

Coming o’er the lofty mountains,
  There I left a robe of white;
I have locked the sparkling fountains,
  I have chained the river bright.

O’er the quiet valley winging,
  There I left my traces, too;
Hark! the merry sleigh-bells ringing,
  With their music call on you.

I have come!  The school-boy shouting,
  Joyfully brings out his sled;
He has seen me, nothing doubting,
  As across the fields he sped.

I have come; but shall I find you
  Better than the former year? 
If you’ve cast your faults behind you,
  I shall gladly greet you here.

[Illustration]

“Give us this day our daily bread.”

[Illustration:  Letter G.]

Give us this day our daily bread;
  Oh! children, when you pray,
And morn and night repeat these words,
  Think what it is you say.

You never asked a piece of bread,
  And had that wish denied;
For food to eat, and some to spare,
  Has always been supplied.

But o’er the ocean, many a cheek
  With want grows thin and pale;
And many suffer like the boy
  Of whom I tell this tale.

He lay upon some scattered straw,—­
  His strength was almost gone,—­
And, in a feeble voice, he cried,
  “Give me three grains of corn!”

Three grains from out his jacket torn,
  His trembling mother drew,
’Twas all she had—­she gave them him,
  Though she was starving too!