W H! busy bee,
On wing so free,
Yet all in order true;
Each seems to know,
Both where to go,
And what it has to do.
'Mid summer heat,
The honey sweet,
It gathers while it may;
In tiny drops,
And never stops
To waste its time in play.
I hear it come,
I know its hum;
It flies from flower to flower;
And to its store,
A little more
It adds, each day and hour. THE LARK AND YOUNG.
V—THE VULTURE. ON rugged rods the Vulture waits
To scent its carrion prey,
When down, into the plains below
It takes its rapid way. FIERCE is the wolf, and crafty too,
And swift of foot is he;
In forest depths and mountain glens
He loves to wander free. X—THE XEMA. IN far-off lands, 'neath northern skies,
And on the surfy shore,
Lives the lone Xema, and delights
In ocean's thunder roar.
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