Follow Thou Thy Choice.

The February Sunshine Steeps Your Boughs And Tints The Buds And Swells The Leaves Within.

The Hushed Winds Their Sabbath Keep.

And At My Silent Window-sill The Jessamine Peeps In.

Loveliest Of Lovely Things Are They, On Earth, That Soonest Pass Away. The Rose That Lives Its Little Hour Is Prized Beyond The Sculptured Flower.

The Country Ever Has A Lagging Spring, Waiting For May To Call Its Violets Forth, And June Its Roses-showers And Sunshine Bring, Slowly, The Deepening Verdure O'er The Earth; To Put Their Foliage Out, The Woods Are Slack, And One By One The Singing-birds Come Back. Within The City's Bounds The Time Of Flowers Comes Earlier. Let A Mild And Sunny Day, Such As Full Often, For A Few Bright Hours, Breathes Through The Sky Of March The Airs Of May, Shine On Our Roofs And Chase The Wintry Gloom- And Lo! Our Borders Glow With Sudden Bloom.