SONG OF THE SEASONS

Sing, oh sing, ’tis summer time! Sing it ’mong the roses,— Sing it till each sleeping bud, Dewy-eyed, uncloses. Sing it through the woodlands, till All the song-birds hear it! Sing,—till every blade of grass Finds a voice to cheer it. * * * * Sigh, oh sigh, ’tis winter drear! Sigh it through the flowing Shroud that over earth’s dead breast Falls in time of snowing. Sigh it through the bare brown stems That once held the roses! Sigh it round the grave, that o’er Summer’s glory closes.