Does the medder-lark complain, as he swims high and dry Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky? Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappointed way, Er hang his head in silence, and sorrow all the day? Is the chipmuck's health a-failin'?--Does he walk, er does he run? Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've allus done? Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er voice? Ort a mortul be complainin' when dumb animals rejoice?
Then let us, one and all, be contented with our lot; The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining hot. Oh! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away! Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you.
Lord God in Paradise, Look upon our sowing, Bless the little gardens And the good green growing! Give us sun, Give us rain, Bless the orchards And the grain!
Lord God in Paradise, Please bless the beans and peas, Give us corn full on the ear-- We will praise Thee, Lord, for these! Bless the blossom And the root, Bless the seed And the fruit!
Lord God in Paradise, Over my brown field is seen, Trembling and adventuring. A miracle of green. Send such grace As you know, To keep it safe And make it grow!
Lord God in Paradise, For the wonder of the seed, Wondering, we praise you, while We tell you of our need. Look down from Paradise, Look upon our sowing, Bless the little gardens And the good green growing! Give us sun, Give us rain, Bless the orchards And the grain!
_The sky is blue and soft to-day, The grass is green this month of May, And Muvver with her spade and rake My little garden helps me make; For every one must plant more seeds To grow the food that each one needs: Potatoes, corn, green peas, and beets, The kind of beans that sister eats, We plant in rows marked by a string, For neatness is the one great thing; The earth is then raked smooth and pressed And Nature 'tends to all the rest._
If I could patch a coverlet From pieces of the Spring, What dreams a happy child would have Beneath so fair a thing!