(12) Sweet and dear; sweet and dear ;—
(13) Lo, our queen is here!

(14) See the light of her blue eyes

Smiles upon us from the skies;
(15) Sweetly ring; sweetly ring;
(16) Welcome, Queen of Spring!

(17) Gladly ring; gladly ring;
Let each tiny blossom swing
To and fro, to and fro,

Every heart aglow.

(18) Dancing at our queen's own ball,
(19) Dancing, courtesying, one and all;
(20) Gladly ring; gladly ring;

(21) Welcome, Queen of Spring!

(22) Sadly ring; sadly ring;
Time is ever on the wing;
(23) Sad and slow; sad and slow;
Our dear queen must go!

(24) Sadly toll each tiny bell,

Till it breathes a fond farewell;

(25) Sadly ring; sadly ring;
Farewell, Queen of Spring!

(26)

Branches of Trees.

(Recitations with marching chorus.)

By JENNIE D. MOORE.

A chorus at one side, or the entire school in their seats sing the opening and closing song as the boys march in and place themselves in a row upon the platform. Each one carries a branch of the tree (or one resembling it) in his hand, and while speaking, stands in the center of the platform. The tune of the chorus is "We March, We March to Victory," in "Song Treasures," published by E. L. KELLOGG & Co.

Chorus.

Trees, trees are ours, the sweet spring flowers,

Very beautiful are to view,

Yet the stately trees that sway in the breeze,

Are graceful and bonny, too;

Are graceful and bonny, too.

Branches we bring from the woods of spring;

Note each blossoming, budding bough

At dawn of day his choice he'll make ;

The ripest, reddest he will take ;

Yet, still I know there'll surely be
Some sweet, red cherries left for me.

Fourth Boy (maple).—

The maple, with its leaflets green,
Can claim a beauty all its own;
Tall and straight, and slender, too,
A tree more fair is hardly known.
In summer, 'neath its cooling shade,
Well pleased we spend the sultry hours,
'Mid hum of bees, and song of birds,
And zephyrs, redolent with flowers.
The maple, at the autumn-tide,
Its beauty rare unfolds,

In brilliant colors, richly died,

Reds, browns, and greens, and golds,

It charms the eye. To landscape drear

It gives a warmth and light;

Thru all the seasons of the year

We love the maple bright.

Fifth Boy (peach).—

The peach is mine. Its blossoms, pink and sweet,
Are beautiful. The tree is fair to view,

And well we love the rare, delicious fruit,
When ripened well by summer's sun and dew.
The downy peach, in autumn hanging high,
Is pleasing to the taste and to the eye.

Sixth Boy (apple).—

The apple I bring. Oh, tell me where
There is a tree that can compare

With our gnarled old friend by the orchard wall;

He may not be so straight or tall

As others are, nor famed so wide;

Yet the apple tree is the children's pride.
In spring, with pink-white blossoms laden,
Down drifting o'er each tiny maiden;
In summer's heat a grateful shade
By the good apple tree is made;
But ah! in autumn the ripe fruit, red,
Clustered high, on the boughs o'erhead,
Can fill our hearts with keen delight,
'Tis such a very goodly sight.