|
|
|
|
|
|
|
When
January comes, we say good-bye
To the poor old year, who has to die,
And greet with smiles the youngster gay
Who in his place then comes to stay. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
No colder
month has all the year
Than February, short but drear,
Yet, though his icy blasts may freeze us,
His Valentines amuse and please us. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
With roar
and bluster, fierce and wild
March, like a bold, unruly child,
So harsh and rude a temper shows,
We are not sorry when he goes. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Fickle
April next appears,
Wreathed in smiles, and bathed in tears,
For she divides the passing hours
Twixt sunny gleams and drenching showers. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Then comes
the sweet and smiling May,
Adorned with blossoms bright and gay:
In every heart, her tender grace
Secures for this dear month a place. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Amid a
wealth of splendid roses,
June her laughing face discloses:
With beauty fullest, finest, rarest,
She of months is surely fairest. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Long are
the days of hot July,
Beneath his blue but ardent sky:
Guns and cannons he sets roaring,
And rockets swiftly heavenward soaring. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
When August
pours his fervid heat
O'er yellow fields of ripening wheat,
Delighted are the girls and boys,
For then they, taste Vacation's joys. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Now the
Outing Days are o'er,
And lessons must be learned once more;
Now on apple, peach, and pear,
September lets us richly fare. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Oh, the
bright October days,
When woods with fiery colour blaze,
And Indian Summer's golden glow
Makes Nature's beauty fairer show! |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
November
strips the boughs quite bare,
And chills us with his frosty air;
But one good word for him we'll say:
He brings to us Thanksgiving Day. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
December,
oh, December dear,
We all rejoice when you are here!
You have our fondest love, because
With you comes good old Santa Claus! |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|