They were blithe times with us when the
Summer had come,
With the nightingale’s song, and the honey-bee’s
With lilies, and roses, and long sunny hours,
And holiday goings to gather wild flowers.
We went all together, one bright afternoon,
When warm on the woods lay the sunlight of
And up in the sky was a blueness, as clear
As if not a cloud had been there all the year.
Old grandmother went with her staff in her hand,
She said, ‘To see summer once more in the land,’
While good uncle William walked cheerfully by,
And, we had such baskets, my sister and I.
‘Twas sweet in the meadows, ‘twas sweet in the
And great was our gathering of blossoms and
By the banks of bright streams, by the roots of
Where nestled the wild birds, and feasted the bees.
Then home with light hearts and full baskets we
When sunset was tinging the old church with red,
But paused at our gate to look back on the view,
How rich in the gold of the evening it grew.
And grandmother said, as she gazed on the sky,
With thoughts of her seventy long summers
‘What glory must gladden that good land of ours,
When this earth is so fair in the time of wild