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JANUARY brings the snow,
Thaws the frozen lake again;
March brings breezes loud and shrill,
Stirs the dancing daffodil;
April brings the primrose sweet,
August brings the sheaves of corn,
Dull November brings the blast,
SARA COLERIDGE, 1803-1852.
THE SPRING MORNING.
GET up, little sister, the morning is bright,
By the side of their mothers, look! under the trees, How the young lambs are skipping about as they please!
And by all those rings on the water I know
The bee, I dare say, has been long on the wing,
If we did not feel happy to hear the lark's song.
Get up, for when all things are merry and glad,