The foodful waters fed me,
And brought me to the lowest land,
Unerring to the ocean sand.
The moss upon the forest bark
Was pole-star when the night was dark;
The purple berries in the wood
Supplied me necessary food;
For Nature ever faithful is
To such as trust her faithfulness.
When the forest shall mislead me,
When the night and morning lie,
When sea and land refuse to feed me,
'T will be time enough to die;
Then will yet my mother yield
A pillow in her greenest field,
Nor the June flowers scorn to cover
The clay of their departed lover.'



WOODNOTES II

_As sunbeams stream through liberal space_
_And nothing jostle or displace,_
_So waved the pine-tree through my thought_
_And fanned the dreams it never brought._

'Whether is better, the gift or the donor?
Come to me,'
Quoth the pine-tree,