SING thyself out, sweet summer, leave not a note unsung;

Smile to the end, dear summer, dimpling on land and sea,

Voice all the praise of the roses, O bells of the lily which rung

The holiday signal for the world, heard by my heart and me!

The earth it was weary of winter, of the frost and the tingling snow,

Of winds which blew from the icy Pole, daunting the faint sun-ray;

And the pulse of life beat fainter, and the fire of hope burned low,

And we yearned for thy coming, summer, and thou wert so far away.

Then the shy, cool noon shone warmer, and the shrunken veins of earth

Pulsed with a quicker current which glowed in the willow’s stem,

And the frozen graves were opened, and death gave place to birth,

And the drowsy flowers reared their heads, and called the birds to them.

Back they came trooping blithely, the oriole and the wren,

Robin and jay and hermit-thrush, to twilight-haunted grove;

New nests, new music, and new hopes, in upland and in glen,

And all the winter discords turned to harmonies of love.

O hearts that failed and doubted, and eyes that were blind and wet,

And dared not trust the heavenly love which giveth each good thing,

The Lord he never forgets his world, and he never will forget,

And year by year from the graving snows he builds his blessed spring!

Tell thyself out then, summer, leave not a word unsaid,

Give sun to sky, and dew to earth, and moon to silver sea;

Give faith to sore and sorrowing hearts who grieve beside their dead,

And tell them God can bring them back, even as he brought back thee.