Mother Truth's Melodies Part 16

_CURIOUS TREES._

THE COW-TREE.

South America's soil Yields the towering Cow-tree, With sweet milk in its cells For you or for me; Its sap is the Milk,-- Cut the tree and it flows; Like leather its leaves, And its branches like bows.

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THE SUGAR-PINE.

Then, too, my dear children, The sweet Sugar-pine, On Pacific's wild coast, In our own soil we find; Cut or scoop out the trunk, And the juices ooze forth, And harden, for sugar, Like icicles, North.

THE b.u.t.tER-TREE.

And, funny enough, There's a b.u.t.ter-tree, too; Its seeds, when boiled down, Will make b.u.t.ter for you.

In India and Africa The b.u.t.ter-tree grows, With coffee and spices, As every one knows.

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THE BREAD-FRUIT TREE,

And listen, dear children, In hot countries too, The Bread-fruit tree grows, Most delicious for you; Its great roasted nuts, Like soft, sweet loaves of bread, Form most of the food On which natives are fed.

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And further, its fibres Of bark, will make cloth; Its wood, boats and houses;-- Its leaves are not loath To be used for a towel, A table-cloth, napkin; Its juice will make bird-lime, And tinder, its catkin.

THE CLOVE-TREE.

And, children, one more, Here's a spicy Clove-tree, Growing forty feet high, Ornamental, you see; The little round drop, Fixed the four p.r.o.ngs between, Forms the blossom or flower, When it's not picked too green.

Now list, while I tell you, Clove-trees will not grow Except in hot climates, Moluccas, or so,

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Where they bloom the year round, In the sunshine or storm, With their trunks straight and smooth, And their pyramid form.

And lastly, dear children, Clove-trees never flower Till a half-dozen years They have grown, maybe more; Then the buds, picked by hand, And dried quickly, are best;-- Trees a hundred years old Often yield with the rest.

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_THE "TREE VILLAGE."_

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In the Solomon Group in the great Southern Sea, And on Isabel Island alone, A tree village is found, up the steep, rocky ground, On the top of a mountain of stone.

So gigantic the trees that it is not with ease That the houses of natives are built, For the stems are six score of our feet, maybe more, And you'd think they must live on a stilt.

By a ladder facade the ascent must be made, Formed of pliable trees, or a creeper Resembling the vine, which the natives entwine,-- And the ladder's drawn up by the sleeper;

For these houses are made but to sleep in, 'tis said, When some enemy threatens;--to guard 'Gainst surprise in the night, they are fortified quite, With great stones, to be thrown at a pard.

At the foot, of these trees are the day-huts for ease And for eating and dancing and play, Yet the huts up so high have a goodly supply Of the needful for night or for day.

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_NO EYES._

Those Creatures that live in the dark, And have no use for eyes, Are made without these organs bright, Which we so highly prize.

The fish in the Mammoth cave,-- Some species of the Ant, Have only a trace where eyes should be, Yet never know the want.

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Who knows but girls and boys, Kept always in the dark, Might come to have but little sight, And finally not a spark.

G.o.d meant us to live in the light, He has poured it all about; Oh, let us not ourselves destroy, By shutting His sunshine out.

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_THE MAMMOTH CAVE._

"WHAT is the Mammoth Cave?"

I hear the Children say, Where fishes have no eyes nor sight, And where 'tis dark by day?

You all have seen a ledge Of big rocks piled, or stone?-- Now just suppose a door-way made, Or entrance to go in.