TO BE MEMORIZED

My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing!

Land where my fathers died; Land of the pilgrims' pride; From every mountain side Let freedom ring!

My native country, thee, Land of the n.o.ble free, Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills Like that above!

Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees, Sweet freedom's song; Let mortal tongues awake; Let all that breathe partake; Let rocks their silence break-- The sound prolong!

Our fathers' G.o.d, to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee we sing!

Long may our land be bright, With freedom's holy light!

Protect us by Thy might, Great G.o.d, our King!

A SONG FOR FLAG DAY

Out on the breeze, O'er land and seas, A beautiful banner is streaming.

Shining its stars, Splendid its bars, Under the sunshine 'tis gleaming.

Over the brave Long may it wave, Peace to the world ever bringing.

While to the stars, Linked with the bars, Hearts will forever be singing.

--LYDIA c.o.o.nLEY WARD.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

JUNE

Roses by the garden wall, Poppies red and lilies tall, Bobolinks and robins,--all Tell that June is here.

JULY

The clover meadows call the bees, The squirrels chatter on the trees, And robins sing their merry lays: Hurrah for glad vacation days!

AUGUST

Sing a song of harvest time, When the golden grain is high, When the blossoms blow, And the sun in a glow Sweeps over a cloudless sky.

THE SEASONS

Sing a song of seasons, Something bright in all, Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall.

--ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

THE MONTHS

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.

In July harvest is begun, In August hotly shines the sun.

September turns the green leaves brown, October winds then shake them down.

November fields are brown and sere, December comes and ends the year.

FOR THE GIRLS

My fairest child, I have no song to give you, No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray.

Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day:--

Be good, sweet maid, And let who will be clever; Do n.o.ble things, not dream them, all day long; And so make life, death, and that vast forever, One grand, sweet song.

--CHARLES KINGSLEY.

FOR THE BOYS

Dare to be right! Dare to be true!