La Belle

Anold farm house, a little girl Leans ovor the window sul, She sees tbe moon behind the trees, And hears the wbip-poor-will. The quiet place, thehour, tha birl Wake longing and umest,- The world beyond the woodland wan Lies beautiful and biest. She softly sigheth, a visión loonis Of splendor, pride, and power, Jewela are hers,- a royal lite - Forftotten her lonely hour. The little giil a woman now- In delicate loams of lace, In elitter and sparkle of gems, look up At the fair moon from her place. She softly üighetb, a visión loorns Of a simple country ufe Where pure in heart Bhe walked wlth uod, Unseared by fashlon's strifo. Again she culled from woodland haunts AndTb"rokeafromeS.e bíood root's nowy flower The root. lts blood to see. She Baw herself n httlo Rul Lean ovfir the window silJ, She Baw the moon behtnd the trees, And heird the whip poor-will. O, bleseed daya! O, blesssd daye! In the old home long ago, O loolish dreame! O, toolisli dreams! That yearned the world to kaow. Oh, what lts pride and pomp and power That flouriBh oiily a day, To the gilt Ihold. ihe priceless gilt, That livath ever and aye! Better a Ufe with Ihe birds acd flowers And mouldinpc the S3ul I own. The glad eternal life to win, That reiga on f shioü's throne. Flint.O.