"
He had set his crown all about the nest,
And out of the midst shone her little brown breast;
And so glorious was she in russet gold,
That for wonder and awe Sir Lark grew cold.
He popped his head under her wing, and lay
As still as a stone, till King Sun was away.
* * * * *
THE IMPS IN THE HEAVENLY MEADOW
BY KATE E. BUNCE (after RUDOLF BAUNBACH)
To Heaven's Meadows, bright with flowers and sunshine,
The little children go,
When they have had enough of life's sad dreaming,
And leave the earth below.
But as they had not time to learn their lessons
Before they went away,
There is a school, where all the angel children
Must work four hours a day.
With golden pencils upon silver tablets,
They copy fairy tales,
And learn to keep their halos bright and shining,
And sing, and play their scales.
And twice a week they glide with merry laughter
All down the Milky Way,
And homeward in the evening wander softly
Upon a sunset ray.
But Sunday is the day they love and long for,
Then all the children go
And play from morn till night within a meadow
Where flowers in thousands grow.
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