" There was Fern on the mountain, and Moss on the moor - The Ferns were the rich, and the Mosses the poor; And the glad breeze blew gaily - from heaven it came - And the fragrance it shed over each was the same; And the warm gun shone brightly, and gilded the Fern, And smiled on the lowly bora Moss in its turn; And the cool dews of night on the mountain Fern fell,

And they glistened upon the green Mosses as well.

And the Fern loved the mountain, the Moss loved the moor

For the Ferns were the rich, and the Mosses the poor.

But the keen blast blew bleakly, the sun waxed high -

Oh! the Ferns they were broken, and withered, and dry;

And the Moss on the moorland grew faded and pale;

And the Fern and the Moss shrank alike from the gale.

So the Fern on the mountain, the Moss on the moor,

Were withered and black where they flourished before.

Then the Fern and the Moss they grew wiser in grief,

And each turned to the other for rest and relief;

And they planned that wherever the Fern roots should grow,

There surely the Moss must live sparkling below.

And the keen blast blew bleakly, the sun waxed fierce -

But no winds and no sun to their cool roots could pierce,

For the Fern threw her shadow the green Moss upon,

Where the dew ever sparkled undried by the sun;

When the graceful Fern trembled before the keen blast,

The Moss guarded her roots till the storm wind had passed.

So no longer the wind parched the roots of the one,

And the other was safe from the rays of the sun.

And thus, and for ever, where'er the Ferns grow,

There surely the Mosses lie sparkling below;

And thus they both flourish where nought grew before,

And both deck the woodland, the mountain, and moor".