Pale is the February sky,
And brief the sunny hours,
And yet they seem to sigh,
For the spring-time, birds, and flowers.
The birds seem waiting patiently,
For the warmer days to come,
When earth again puts on her robe
Of foliage and of bloom.
But still no prouder day e'er dawns,
Than
this, the birth ofWashington.
A brave, kind, gracious man was he,
And the Father of this Country.
His father died when he was young,
And left him to learn life's task alone
But his mother always guided,
By her counsel when at home.
And he rose from boyhood's trials,
To a grander, higher sphere.
He was loved by every nation,
And his memory we revere.