WHAT THE WOOD FIRE SAID TO A LITTLE BOY.

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What said the wood in the fire
To the little boy that night,
The little boy of the golden hair,
As he rocked himself in his little arm-chair,
When the blaze was burning bright?
The wood said: "See
What they've done to me!
I stood in the forest, a beautiful tree!
And waved my branches from east to west;
And many a sweet bird built its nest
In my leaves of green,
That loved to lean
In springtime over the daisy's breast.
"From the blossomy dells,
Where the violet dwells,
The cattle came with their clanging bells,
And rested under my shadows sweet;
And the winds that went over the clover and wheat,
Told me all that they knew
Of the flowers that grew
In the beautiful meadows that dreamed at my feet!
"And the wild wind's caresses
Oft rumpled my tresses;
But, sometimes, as soft as a mother's lip presses
On the brow of the child of her bosom, it laid
Its lips on my leaves, and I was not afraid,
And I listened and heard
The small heart of each bird,
As it beat in the nests that their mothers had made.
"And in springtime sweet faces,
Of myriad graces,
Came beaming and gleaming from flowery places.
And under my grateful and joy-giving shade,
With cheeks like primroses, the little ones played;
And the sunshine in showers,
Through all the bright hours,
Bound their flowery ringlets with silvery braid.
"And the lightning
Came brightening,
From storm skies, and frightening
The wandering birds that were tossed by the breeze,
And tilted like ships on black, billowy seas;
But they flew to my breast,
And I rocked them to rest,
While the trembling vines clustered and clung to my knees.
"But how soon," said the wood,
"Fades the memory of good!
For the forester came, with his axe gleaming bright,
And I fell like a giant all shorn of his might.
Yet still there must be
Some sweet mission for me,
For have I not warmed you and cheered you to-night?"
So said the wood in the fire
To the little boy that night,
The little boy of the golden hair,
As he rocked himself in his little arm-chair,
When the blaze was burning bright.
Atlanta Constitution.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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