From SONGS OF QUIET HOURS. Copyright, by Pres. Samuel Plantz
and reprinted by permission of The Methodist Book Concern.
This poem was written to her mother on her seventy-seventh
birthday.
The spring is fair; it has its flowers,
Its happy time of sun and showers;
Then summer cometh as a queen,
With roses on her robe of green;
But autumn brings the crimson leaves
And wealth of golden, garnered sheaves,
And grapes that purple on the vine,
With spring and summer in their wine.
The morning comes with rosy light
That dims the candles of the night,
And wakes the nestling birds to song,
And sends to toil the brave and strong.
Mid-day and afternoon are spent
In search of gold or heart-content;
Then comes the sunset's glow and rest,
And this of all the days is best.
The baby comes with Paradise
Still shining in his smiling eyes,
And childhood passes like a dream,
As lilies float upon a stream.
Then youth comes with its restless heat,
And manhood, womanhood, replete
With care and pleasure, joy and strife,
Lead to the richest part of life.
And it has reached these, mother dear,
The sunny, mellow time of year;
Though with a climate of thine own,
In constant sun thy soul has grown.
Time counts not helpful, happy years--
He only numbers sighs and tears;
So rich in blessings, strong in truth,
Thou hast not age, but richer youth.