A FOREST PIC-NIC SONG.

WITHIN these woods, beneath these trees, We meet to-day a happy band; All joy is ours,—we feel the breeze Blow gently o'er our native land. How brightly blooms each forest flower! What cheerful notes the wild bird sings! How nature charms our festive hour, What beauty round our pathway springs! The aged bear no weight of years; The good old man, the matron too, Forget their ills, forget their fears, And range the dim old forests through With youth and maiden on whose cheek The ruddy bloom of health doth glow, And in whose eyes the heart doth speak Oft more than they would have us know. How pleasant thus it is to dwell Within the shadow of this wood, Where rock and tree and flower do tell To all that nature's God is good! Here nature's temple open stands,— There's none so nobly grand as here,— The sky its roof; its floor, all lands, While rocks and trees are worshippers. There's not a leaf that rustles now, A bird that chants its simple lays, A breeze that passing fans our brow, That speaks not of its Maker's praise. O, then, let us who gather here Praise Him who gave us this glad day, And when the twilight shades appear Pass with his blessing hence away!