Summer Time
I love to hear the little birdsThat carol on the trees;I love the gentle, murmuring stream;I love the evening breeze.I love to hear the busy humOf honey-making bee,And learn a lesson,—hard to learn,—Of patient industry.I love to think of Him who madeThose pleasant things for me,Who gave me life, and health, and strength,And eyes, that I might see.The child who raises, morn and eve,In prayer its tiny voiceWho grieves whene’er its parents grieve,And joys when they rejoice,—In whose bright eyes young genius glows,Whose heart, without a blot,Is fresh and pure as summer’s rose,—That child’s a sunny spot.[Pg 027]
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