Has she thought of the frosts of Autumn
Making her leaves a tomb,
Or does she mourn that her roses
Are withering as they bloom?
Making her leaves a tomb,
Or does she mourn that her roses
Are withering as they bloom?
But look, there's a smile on her tearful face
Unknown to foreboding fears;
Happy June is but weeping for gladness,
She waters her fields with her tears.
Unknown to foreboding fears;
Happy June is but weeping for gladness,
She waters her fields with her tears.
Down on the new-mown grasses
And stubble, the cool showers pour,
The thirsty land drinks up the rain-drops
And eagerly asks for more.
And stubble, the cool showers pour,
The thirsty land drinks up the rain-drops
And eagerly asks for more.
Down on the drouth and barrenness
As an answer to Nature's prayer,
The rose may drink of the cooling flood
And the weeds may have a share.
As an answer to Nature's prayer,
The rose may drink of the cooling flood
And the weeds may have a share.
So over Life's hard, dry stubble,
From heavens of burnished brass,
The mercy of God is descending
As rain on the new-mown grass.
From heavens of burnished brass,
The mercy of God is descending
As rain on the new-mown grass.
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