Out in the golden summer air,
Amid the purple heather,
A woman sat with drooping head.
And hands close knit together:
Never a bitter word she said.
Though all her life looked cold and dead-
Cold in the glowing haze that lay
Over the fair green earth that day,
That day of summer beauty.
Far, far away where leafy woods
Touched the sky, cloud-riven,
A thousand birds rang out life's bliss
In jubilee to heaven;
How could the poor old withered throat
Carol echoes to each soft note?
Every soul must pay life's cost —
Her deepest silence praised God most,
That day of summer beauty.
Too dulled her soul, too worn, to feel
Summer delight acutely;
While earth was praising God aloud
Her patience praised him mutely.
Her narrow life of thought and care —
Not life to live, but life to bear.
Contented that her soul was sad.
While all God's soulless things were glad,
That day of summer beauty.
And where she stayed, a dusky speck
In gorse and heather glory, —
A weary spirit watched and read
The pathos of her story:
A spirit doubt-opprest and worn,
Had found another more forlorn.
That trustful stayed, nor sought to guess
Life's meanings — which are fathomless.
Through all the summer beauty.
