While The Robin Sings

The red-breast warblcs in the leuflrsa bram-liep, The flrst shy aparro w trios hit tdhder trilla, And Muy, lier fflrdle fuU of palliil bloesoxne, Traits kIow her faint-green rotíBS acroes the huls. And we rejoice ; not with light worde and. langbtcr Wo watch Ihc soft relenting of the nky, Bnt with a touch of vague, unepoken heart-ache, Wc say :'tiie spring has come" - and smile - and High. Yet we aro glad. How is il that cnir gïaxinosa Is thus sédate, and cahn, auil w'eU cofetrolled? Ib it that j?y uo longer craves espression, Or can ït be that we are growing old ? Have we so changcd ? Are sensc and spirit dnilcr Thau vrhen out happy hcarts made loudor mirth ? Has it grown leas, our fond a,ud quiek perceptiou Of all the lovely rooods of sky aud earfh ? Once wc exulted in the morninfT'B crimeon, The evexüng'a piirole, and the snnsct's gold ; And every gleam and eloud brtmght addod raptare, Ere we had thonght or dreamed of growing old. iret still our grateful hearts leap up responsivo To the brave blue-bird, laugliiug at the cold ; Our eyes note cvery tint of pky and ocean - It cannot bc that we are growing old. No- while ournearness to the great All-mother Preserves us huuible, pure and tender-souled, She gives us of her deathlesB youth and freBhnosa, And thope wlio love her never can grow old. The years niay check or Btül our lighter laugbtor. And hut-h our hcarts with chidlogs ïuiiini'old, And spring may come and go, and find aad leave us Sobered, perhape, but surfly uot grown old! - - Scribncr or June.