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For Good Supreme can never fail
That gives such perfect fulness.

The life that floods the happy fields
With song and light and color
Will shape our lives to richer states,
And heap our measures fuller.

CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH.

On the
Wing

To a Waterfowl *

Whither 'midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocky billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean-side?

There is a Power whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,

* By courtery of D. Appleton & Co., publishers of Bryant's Complete Poetical Works.

On the The desert and illimitable air,

Wing

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned,

At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end;

Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.

He who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain

flight,

In the long way that I must tread alone,

Will lead my steps aright.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Goldfinches

Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop
From low-hung branches; little space they stop,
But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek,
Then off at once, as in a wanton freak;

Or perhaps, to show their black and golden wings,
Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.

Were I in such a place, I sure should pray

That naught less sweet might call my thoughts

away

Than the soft rustle of a maiden's gown

Fanning away the dandelion's down.

On the
Wing

JOHN KEATS.

The Sandpiper

Across the narrow beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I;

And fast I gather, bit by bit,

The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry.
The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,

As up and down the beach we flit,—
One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud black and swift across the sky;
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white lighthouses high.

On the Almost as far as eye can reach
Wing I see the close-reefed vessels fly,

As fast we flit along the beach,-
One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry;
He starts not at my fitful song,
Or flash of fluttering drapery.
He has no thought of any wrong;
He scans me with a fearless eye;
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,
The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night
When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
My driftwood fire will burn so bright!
To what warm shelter canst thou fly?
I do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky;
For are we not God's children both,
Thou, little sandpiper, and I?

CELIA THAXTER.

The Eagle (Fragment)

He clasps the crag with hookèd hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls;
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.

Child's Talk in April

I wish you were a pleasant wren,
And I your small accepted mate;
How we'd look down on toilsome men!
We'd rise and go to bed at eight
Or it may be not quite so late.

Then you should see the nest I'd build,
The wondrous nest for you and me;
The outside rough perhaps, but filled

With wool and down; ah, you should see
The cosy nest that it would be.

We'd have our change of hope and fear,
Some quarrels, reconcilements sweet:
I'd perch by you to chirp and cheer,
Or hop about on active feet,

And fetch you dainty bits to eat.

On the
Wing

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