CHILDREN’S VERSES.

Waikato Times, Volume 119, Issue 19899, 30 May 1936, Page 18 (Supplement)

CHILDREN’S VERSES.

I AUTUMN nssszs. ‘Prelty Autumn oft confesses That she simply loves new dresses. “ Summer wears but green." she said “I like other shades instead." “First I choose a frock of yellow. “hen the days are warm and mellow, And the sun. so I‘m told. Makes me glitter just like gold." Every day she is arranging What to wear; she‘s always changing Crimson frocks for party wear. Gleaming rlhbons in her hail‘l Later, when the year grows older. And me days are getting colder. She puts on a russet gown And a cloak of darker brown. Winter comes, she's dark and dreary; Autumn now is sleepy. weary, So “good night,“ to bed she‘ll so In a nightdl‘ess made of snow.

BURNING ann. {We have swept up Summer with barrow and broom, d] We have heaped her heart on a 4 golden pyre; lAll hei- beauty and all her bloom I Are a trail of smoke in a thin blue I. spire. And ashes scattered among the mire. All the pride of her rich array is [lung to the gathering winds to-day. And some will remember. and some 3 will say: “There ls nothing so and as an - Autumn flrei“ i/ (Sent by “So and $0.") . DAY BY DAV. It does not matter who I tun, or how I ; live, or when. 50 long as l canislns 8 50118 and “Y a little prayer. It does not matter if my sea of life be rough or calm, 5 So long as I can keep in mind the twenty-third sweet psaim. it does not matter anything what. other people say. So long as I can lend a hand to other: on the way. It does not matter it I fall so long as i can smile, And keep another company along a scuund mile. It does not matter it I {all behind or take the lead— But much, oh much it matters. how my Lord scores up the deed. —Glorta Rawliuson. (Sent by Ruby Newcombe.) R I'o “MOTHER'S TREASURE." There l< golden sunlight. streaming o'er the holds 01’ yellow corn; lt's nn thv I't‘ll‘i—{Lfild oranges, the ('utfilll‘ ut‘ itiL‘ dawn; lt‘s lu-uniing unni it's gleaming, through the. laden lemon trees, .\nrl it‘s :lnnving with the poppies to ihv nilhiu ml the breeze. it‘s ('i‘r‘i‘pini: up the garden path and through the open door, _\mi nun' tili- Llii‘ili‘ll's' full of it, but still mums more and more. Inw tin} my. i-:\hau.~h‘(i quite. is slewing iii the hutler: \iit'ttti"l'. liil'i'u' En:iii>iti\'c_ in honey nukes :i liutlnr, , Hanoi-3 \\'.ik|‘.\' in giitimi cage and swells " his throat \\ith Joy, And in his nnlvs ol' hquid gold sings in my huhy boy. Hos in his vrmliv. whiting. but I canilni tell you him 1 know he, talks with angels when he slnilos it» he (lilt‘fi mm. i i'nnllut toll S'ou how i know the «hinim: of his hair Is a happy little sunbeam that ha been entanglul there. (Original. Joy Chestermau.)