I lay you, against this old Winter, a charm.
To make him, at least, keep himself out of doors!
'Twould melt--should he enter--his hard hand and arm.
When loud for admission he threatens and roars.
If gratitude then should come, warming your _heart_,
As peaceful you sit by your warm _fireside_;
Perhaps it may teach you some good to impart
To those, where the gifts you enjoy are denied.
For He in whose favor all blessedness is;
And out of whose kingdom no treasure is sure,
Was poor when on earth;--and the poor still are his:
His charge to his friends is "_Remember the poor_."
Nor would his disciple be higher than He,
Who once on the dwellings of men, for his bread,
In lowliness wrought! but contentedly, we
Will work by the light that our Master has shed.
=Song of the Bees=
We watch for the light of the morn to break,
And color the eastern sky
With its blended hues of saffron and lake;
Then say to each other, "Awake! awake!
For our winter's honey is all to make,
And our bread for a long supply!"
Then off we hie to the hill and the dell--
To the field, the meadow, and bower:
In the columbine's horn we love to dwell,--
To dip in the lily with snow-white bell,--
To search the balm in its odorous cell,
The mint, and rosemary flower.
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