Never a word is said,

But it trembles in the air,
And the truant voice has sped,
To vibrate everywhere.

And perhaps far off in eternal years
The echo may ring upon our ears.

Never are kind acts done

To wipe the weeping eyes,
But like flashes of the sun

They signal to the skies;

And up above the angels read
How we have helped the sorer need.

Never a day is given,

But it tones the after years,

And it carries up to heaven

Its sunshine or its tears;

While the to-morrows stand and wait,
The silent mutes by the outer gate.

There is no end to the sky,
And the stars are everywhere,

And time is eternity,

And the here is over there;

For the common deeds of the common day Are ringing bells in the far away.

****

In silence mighty things are wrought-
Silently builded, thought on thought,

Truth's temple greets the sky;

And like a citadel with towers,

The soul, with her subservient powers, Is strengthened silently.

Soundless as chariots on the snow,
The saplings of the forest grow
To trees of mighty growth;
Each nightly star in silence burns,
And every day in silence turns

The axle of the earth.

*

GLIMPSES OF NATURE

GLIMPSES OF NATURE

I'm little January; perhaps you do not know

How far I've come to see you, across the fields of

snow.

Perhaps you weren't expecting I'd be so very small,
Perhaps you're almost wishing I had not come at all.
I've lots of little sisters, a little brother too,
And every one is coming to make a call on you.
But I got ready quickly, and came right straight off
here,

To be the first to greet you, this happy, bright New
Year.

Lisbeth B. Comins

Bend down your branches, apple-tree,

Said busy little May;

With blossoms I must trim each twig,

And I've not long to stay.

I'll wake the nodding daffodils,

I'll rouse the violets blue,

And then, when all my work is done,

I'll say good-by to you.

Lisbeth B. Comins

Oh, what anear but golden brooms,

And a waste of reedy rills!

Oh, what afar but the fine glooms

On the rare blue hills!

Jean Ingelow