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(October 18th)
WHEN slowly sinks the fading year, | |
| And early falls the shortening day, | |
| There comes a season crisp and clear, | |
| And decked in beautiful array: | |
| The redbreast sings from the red spray | 5 |
| A song contented and serene; | |
| And smiling to its artless lay | |
| The Summer of Saint Luke is seen! | |
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| A painter was Saint Luke, I hear, | |
| And I believe ’tis as they say; | 10 |
| Such colours gleam from tree and mere, | |
| Such rainbow hues around us play: | |
| They flash on us by wood and way, | |
| Crimson and orange, brown and green; | |
| O’er hill and dale, where’er we stray, | 15 |
| The Summer of Saint Luke is seen! | |
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| Physician, too, devout and dear, | |
| So holy books our Saint portray: | |
| And such he doth e’en now appear, | |
| Touching our hearts with healing ray: | 20 |
| He drives depressing thoughts away, | |
| And where dull mists and rains have been. | |
| Lo, brightness comes and sunbeams stay— | |
| The Summer of Saint Luke is seen! | |
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| Friend, art thou withered, old, and grey? | 25 |
| Not always shalt thou droop, I ween: | |
| Heaven respite sends thee, if thou pray— | |
| The Summer of Saint Luke is seen! | |
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