Springtime may lose its freshest tints,
And autumn-leaves their gold.
The bitter blast and snowy wreath
May sweep across the wold;
But the years are full of splendors
That never will depart,
For they shed eternal fragrance
When there’s summer in the heart.
The shadows linger on the earth,
The sunbeams hide away;
The sad mists fold their chill white hands
About the face of day;
The tumult and the rush of life
Sound ay in street and mart;
But they can not drown life’s music
When there’s summer in the heart.
The city towers are crumbling fast,
And totter to their fall;
The ivied castle on the height
Shows many a ruined wall;
But men build eternal buildings
With strange and wondrous art;
They are shrines for the immortals
When there’s summer in the heart.
--Montreal _Star_.
(3106)
=Sun The, as a Witness=--See TESTS.