BOTHERS and sisters all are we, 

Children of one family; 

Some of us are stern and cold, 

Some of us are cross and old; 

Some of us are dull and sad, 

Some in mourning vesture clad; 

Others gentle, good, and fair, 

Without a thought or look of care. 

January's form is clad 

In heavy robes of fur and plaid; 

Icy cold his lofty brow, 

And his falling tears are snow: 

February frowns and storms; 

His hand is cold; his heart is warm. 

His face, though lowering all the while, 

Breaks often in a pleasant smile. 

March is lusty, tall, and proud, 

And of his fate complains aloud. 

He never heeds the path he takes, 

Nor cares he how much noise he makes. 

April is our darling pet;  

With tears her bonny cheeks are wet; 

Lovely baby! When she cries, 

The sunbeams sparkle in her eyes. 

May is the cherub of our group; 

She comes with ball, and top, and hoop; 

Her laughing eyes are bonny blue, 

Her lips, the ripening cherry's hue. 

Gentle June's a lady fair, 

Twining roses in her hair; 

"Beauty blossoms in her face, 

And every motion is a grace." 

July, beside some babbling brook, 

Seeks for himself a shady nook; 

Or, languishing in leafy bowers, 

Dreams away the rosy hours. 

August laves his burning brow 

Where the bubbling fountains flow; 

His hair is tinged with many a gem, 

And golden fruit his diadem. 

September reaps the golden corn; 

With joy he winds his hunting-horn; 

His locks with rainbow lustre shine; 

His lips are red with new-made wine. 

October binds the shining sheaves; 

With beauteous tints he paints the leaves; 

He wanders through the forests brown, 

Where ripened nuts come rattling down. 

November 'neath a mail of rain 

Hides her face, benumbed with pain; 

Her dower a realm of withered leaves; 

O'er autumn's faded charms she grieves. 

December's faded, old, and worn; 

His locks are thin, his garments torn; 

He shivers through the windy streets, 

And frowns on every face he meets.