March Song. (Pat's Pick, page 41.)

4 Flats.

Ho, for the stormy cold March days., Aye, there is nothing like them. Loud let us shout and sing their praise, March is so proud and free! Snowy, blowy, wheezy, breezy, Sweeping up the winter's snow, Freezing, pleasing, teasing, unceasing, How do the March winds blow! [Repeat first half ol verse for chorus.] Ho. for the field! ye farmers now, Cheer on your patient oxen, Deep in the furrow drive the plow, Strive for the harvest fair! Winging, singing, springing, clinging, On the spray sweet birds are seen. Driving, flying, winter defying, Winds sweep the meadows green.—D. G. Hark, how the warning equinox Calls from the eastern ocean; Stand to your arms, ye time-worn rocks; Onward the mad waves pour, Rushing, splashing, surging, crashing, Thundering on the coast so strong; Boiling, toiling, fiercely recoiling, Wild dash the waves along. —D. C.