UNDER THE PEAR TREES.

UNDER the pear trees one August day, In the long-ago and the far-away, Four little children rested from play, Cheering the hours with childish chat, Now laughing at this or shouting at that, Till a golden pear fell straight in Fred’s hat. “I’m lucky,” he cried as he hastened to eat The mellow pear so juicy and sweet; “If I tried for a week, that couldn’t be beat.” Then Tom and Jenny and Mary spread Their hats and aprons wide, and said, “We can catch pears as well as Fred.” Then long and patient they sat, and still, Hoping a breeze from over the hill Their laps with the golden fruit would fill. Till, weary of waiting, Tom said with a sneer, “I could gather a bushel of pears, ’tis clear, While idly we wait for a windfall here.” Then up the tree he sprang, and the power Of his sturdy arm soon sent a shower Of yellow fruit as a golden dower. It was long ago, that August day When four little children rested from play Under the pear trees far away. And the children, older and wiser now, With furrows of care on either brow, Have not forgotten the lesson, I trow— The lesson they learned on that August day, That for having our wishes the surest way Is to work, and in earnest, without delay.