under the roses.
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Children! hasten with the bread,
The birds are waiting to be fed,
Pretty, trustful little things,
They flutter down on eager wings,
Chirping, as they hop about,
Searching for the crumbs thrown out.
How brightly robin's bosom glows
Against the white of drifted snows.
·····
Birdies, now the feast is o'er
Hasten to your nests once more,
Or the little snowflakes white
Will hide your little homes from sight.
The birds are waiting to be fed,
Pretty, trustful little things,
They flutter down on eager wings,
Chirping, as they hop about,
Searching for the crumbs thrown out.
How brightly robin's bosom glows
Against the white of drifted snows.
·····
Birdies, now the feast is o'er
Hasten to your nests once more,
Or the little snowflakes white
Will hide your little homes from sight.
Under the Roses.
Under the roses baby lies,—
The budding roses sweet and fair—
Plucking pansies that match her eyes
While the sunshine glints on her golden hair.
And, "Which is the fairest?"asks Hope of me,"
The budding babe, or the budding tree?"
The budding roses sweet and fair—
Plucking pansies that match her eyes
While the sunshine glints on her golden hair.
And, "Which is the fairest?"asks Hope of me,"
The budding babe, or the budding tree?"
Under the roses a maiden stands,—
The blooming roses fair to see,—
But the blossoms she holds in her dainty hands,
Are not more beautiful than she,
Ah, "Which is the sweetest?" asks Love of me,"
The blushing maid, or the blooming tree?"
The blooming roses fair to see,—
But the blossoms she holds in her dainty hands,
Are not more beautiful than she,
Ah, "Which is the sweetest?" asks Love of me,"
The blushing maid, or the blooming tree?"
