TELLING THE BEES.
BY EUGENE FIELD.
Out of the house where the slumberer lay
Grandfather came one summer day;
And under the pleasant orchard trees
He spake this-wise to the murmuring bees;
"The clover-bloom that kissed her feet
And the posie-bed where she used to play
Have honey store, but none so sweet
As ere our little one went away,
O bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low;
For she is gone who loved you so."
A wonder fell on the listening bees
Under those pleasant orchard trees,
And in their toil that summer day
Ever their murmuring seemed to say;
"Child, child, the grass is cool.
And the posies are waking to hear the song
Of the bird that swings by the shaded pool,
"Waiting for one that tarrieth long."
'Twas so they called to the little one then.
As if to call her back' again.
O gentle bees, I have come to say
That grandfather fell to sleep to-day.
And we know by the smile on grandfather's face.
He has found his dear one's biding place.
So, bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low.
As over the honey-fields you sweep,—
To the trees a-bloom and the flowers a-blow
Sing of grandfather fast asleep;
And ever beneath these orchard trees
Find cheer and shelter, gentle bees.
141
