April brings the primrose sweet;
Scatters daisies at our feet.

May brings flocks of pretty lambs,
Skipping by their fleecy dams.
June brings tulips, lilies, roses,
Fills the children's hands with posies.
Hot July brings cooling showers,
Apricots, and gilliflowers.

August brings the sheaves of corn,
Then the harvest home is borne.
Warm September brings the fruit,
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.
Fresh October brings the pheasant,
Then to gather nuts is pleasant.
Dull November brings the blast,
Then the leaves are whirling fast.
Chill December brings the sleet,
Blazing fire and Christmas treat.

She was gentle, she was soft,
And her large dark eye
Often turn'd to her mate,

Who was sitting close by.

"Coo," said the Turtle-dove.

"Coo," said she.

"Oh, I love thee," said the Turtle-dove. "And I love THEE."

In the long shady branches
Of the dark pine-tree,
How happy were the doves
In their little nursery!

The young turtle-doves

Never quarrell'd in the nest; For they dearly loved each other, Though they loved their mother best. "Coo," said the little doves.

And they play'd together kindly,

In the dark pine-tree.

Is this nursery of yours,

Little sister, little brother,
Like the Turtle-dove's nest-
Do you love one another?
Are you kind, are you gentle,
As children ought to be?
Then the happiest of nests
Is your own nursery.

THE LITTLE BOY AND THE STARS.

You little twinkling stars, that shine

Above my head so high,

If I had but a pair of wings

I'd join you in the sky.

I am not happy lying here,
With neither book nor toy,
For I am sent to bed, because
I've been a naughty boy.

If

you will listen, little stars,
I'll tell you all I did:

I only said I would not do
The thing that I was bid!

I'm six years old this very day,
And I can write and read,
And not to have my own way yet
Is very hard indeed.

I do not know how old you are,
Or whether you can speak,
But you may twinkle all night long

And play at hide-and-seek.

If I were with you, little stars,

How merrily we'd roll

Across the skies and through the clouds,

And round about the pole!

D

The moon that once was round and full,
Is now a silver boat;

We'd launch it off that bright-edged cloud,
And then-how we should float!

Does anybody say, "Be still,"

When you would dance and play? Does anybody hinder you

When you would have your way?

Oh, tell me, little stars, for much
I wonder why you go

The whole night long from east to west,
So patiently and slow !

"We have a Father, little child,
Who guides us on our way;

We never question-when He speaks,
We listen and obey."