THE SEASONS

In this country we have four seasons. They are spring, summer, autumn, and winter.

"O Giver of beautiful gifts, what cheer? What joy dost thou bring with thee?"

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My seasons four shall bring

Their treasures,

the winter's snows,

The autumn's store, the flowers of spring,
And the summer's perfect rose."

The spring months are March, April, and May.

The summer months are June, July, and August.

The fall or autumn months are September, October, and November.

The winter months are December, January, and February.

In the spring the birds return from their winter homes. One of the first signs of spring

is the robin with his red breast. Then the crocuses and tulips push their tiny heads above the ground. The grass begins to come up, and the buds soon show on the trees. By the time summer is here, all the flowers are in bloom. The trees and grasses are

During the fall months all the fruit has ripened. The grain is harvested in the barns and the nuts are stored in the attics. The farmers are well prepared for the cold winter.

POETICAL SELECTIONS

THE BLUE-BELLS OF SCOTLAND

Of all the flowers in Scotland,
I'd choose the dear Blue-bell,
Of all the flowers in Scotland,
I'd choose the dear Blue-bell;

Its color has a language
Which plainly seems to tell
Of the one that's afar

And to say he loves me well.

Its form too has music,

I often hear it ring,

Its form too has music,
I often hear it ring;

Foretelling joy unclouded,

Which future days may bring:
birds singing yonder,

Oh, ye

Of those sweet days ye sing.

MRS. JORDAN.

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE

WOODMAN, spare that tree!

Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot;
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy ax shall harm it not!

That old familiar tree,

Whose glory and renown

Are spread o'er land and sea

And wouldst thou hew it down? Woodman, forbear thy stroke!

Cut not its earthbound ties;

Oh, spare that aged oak
Now towering to the skies!

When but an idle boy,

I sought its grateful shade;

In all their gushing joy

Here, too, my sisters played;

My mother kissed me here,

My father pressed my handForgive this foolish tear,

But let the old oak stand!

My heartstrings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild bird sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree! the storm still brave!
And woodman, leave the spot;

While I've a hand to save,

Thy ax shall harm it not!

IN January falls the snow,
In February cold winds blow,

In March peep out the early flowers,
In April fall the sunny showers.

In May the tulips bloom so gay,
In June the farmer mows his hay.