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BLOWY breezy March brings Spring,
When the birds begin to sing;
Showery April, flowery May,
Come and quickly pass away.

Summer comes with leafy June,
When the nice sweet hay is mown;
Hot July brings August on,
Then the Summer's past and gone.

September fruit, October grain,
Then November's pattering rain
Finishes the Autumn time,
And the year has seen its prime.

Spring, Summer, Autumn, all are past;
Shivering Winter comes at last;
Sharp December winds will blow,
Scattering hail, and rain, and snow.

January's ice will sparkle,
February's frost will darkle;

Then good-by frost, and snow and rain,
Charming spring will come again.



How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gathers honey all the day,
From ev'ry op'ning flow'r.

How skilfully she builds her cell,

How neat she spreads her wax, And labours hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes.

In works of labour or of skill
I would be busy too;
Some evil work is present still
For idle hands to do.

In books, or work, or healthful play,
my first years be past;
That I may give for every day,
Some good account at last.



The oceans number five:

Two lie around the poles;
Between us and America,

A third, th' Atlantic rolls.

The Indian ocean next,

A fourth is said to be;
The fifth, the great Pacific is
From tempests ever free.


SPORTING On the village green,
The pretty English girl is seen;
Or beside her cottage neat,
Knitting on the garden-seat.

Now within her humble door, Sweeping clean her kitchen floor; While upon the wall so white, Hang her coppers, polished bright.

Mary never idle sits;

She either sews, or spins, or knits; Hard she labours all the week, With sparkling eye and rosy cheek.

And on Sunday Mary goes,
Neatly dressed in decent clothes,
Says her prayers (a constant rule)
And hastens to the Sunday School.

Oh, how good should we be found,
Who live on happy English ground;
Where rich and poor and wretched may
All learn to walk in wisdom's way.


I saw a snowdrop on the bed,
Green taper leaves among;
White as the driven snow its head
Upon the stalk was hung.

The wintry wind came sweeping o'er,
And soon a tempest blew :
The snowdrop faded-never more
To glitter with the dew.

I saw a smiling infant laid

In its fond mother's arms : Around its rosy cheeks there played A thousand dimpling charms.

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