60 



MARCH. 



The little brooks ran on in light, 



As if they had a chase of mirth ; 

 The skies are blue, the air is warm, 

 Our very hearts have caught the charm 

 That sheds a beauty over earth. 



The aged man is in the field ; 



The maiden 'mong her garden flowers ; 

 The sons of sorrow and distress 

 Are wandering in forgetfulness, 



Of wants that fret and care that lowers. 



She comes with more than present good- 

 With joys to store for future years, 

 From which in striving crowds apart, 

 The bowed in spirit, bruised in heart, 

 May glean up hope with grateful tears. 



Up let us to the fields away, 



And breathe the fresh and balmy air : 

 The bird is building in the tree, 

 The flower has opened to the bee, 



And health, and love, and peace are there 



