SEASONS.
And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years.—Genesis, i. 14.
While the earth remaineth, seed-time and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease.—Genesis, viii. 22.
He giveth snow like wool: He scattereth the hoar-frost like ashes.
He casteth forth His ice like morsels: who can stand before His cold?
He sendeth out His word, and melteth them: He causeth His wind to blow, and the waters flow.—Psalm cxlvii. 16, 17, 18.
He changeth the times and the seasons.—Daniel, ii. 21.
The earth which drinketh in the rain that cometh oft upon it, and bringeth forth herbs meet for them by whom it is dressed, receiveth blessing from God.—Hebrews, vi. 7.
These, as they change, Almighty Father, these
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring
Thy beauty walks, Thy tenderness and love.
Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm;
Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles;
And every sense, and every heart is joy.
Then comes Thy glory in the Summer months,
With light and heat refulgent. Then Thy sun
Shoots full perfection through the swelling year;
And oft Thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks;
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
By brooks and groves, in hollow whispering gales.
Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined,
And spreads a common feast for all that live.
In Winter awful Thou! with clouds and storms
Around Thee thrown, tempest o’er tempest rolled,
Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind’s wing,
Riding sublime, Thou bid’st the world adore,
And humblest nature with Thy northern blast.
Thomson.
Truth bids me look on men as Autumn leaves;
And all they bleed for, as the Summer’s dust,
Driven by the whirlwind.
Young.
What prodigies can power divine perform
More grand than it produces year by year,
And all in sight of inattentive man?
Familiar with the effect, we slight the cause,
And in the constancy of nature’s course,
The regular return of genial months,
See nought to wonder at.
Cowper.
When Spring unlocks the flowers, to paint the laughing soil;
When Summer’s balmy showers refresh the mower’s toil;
When Winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood,
In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns her Maker good.
The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade;
The winds that sweep the mountain, or lull the drowsy glade;
The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way,
The moon and stars their Maker’s name in silent pomp display.
Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of the sky—
Shall man, alone unthankful, his meed of praise deny?
No,—let the sun forsake its course, the seasons cease to be,
Thee, Maker, must we still adore; and, Saviour, honour Thee.
The flowers of spring may wither,—the hope of Summer fade,—
The Autumn droop in Winter,—the birds forsake the shade,—
The wind be lull’d,—the sun and moon forget their old decree,—
But we in nature’s latest hour, O Lord! will cling to Thee.
Bishop Heber.
Is there a heart that beats and lives,
To which no joy the Spring-time gives?
Alas! in that unfeeling heart
Nor love nor kindliness has part;
Or chilling want, or pining care
Must brood, or comfortless despair.
Blest, who without profane alloy
Can revel in that blameless joy!
More blest, in every welcome hour,
If Spring-time smile, or winter lower,
Who round him scatter’d hears or sees
What still the excursive sense may please;
Who round him finds, perchance unsought,
Fresh matter for improving thought;
And more, the more he looks abroad,
Marks, owns, and loves the present God!
Bishop Mant.
When youthful Spring around us breathes,
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower that Summer wreathes,
Is born beneath thy kindling eye;
Where’er we turn Thy glories shine,
And all things bright and fair are Thine.
Thomas Moore.
Ah, how soon
The shades of twilight follow hazy noon,
Short’ning the busy day!—day that slides by
Amidst th’ unfinish’d toils of husbandry;
Toils still each morn resumed with double care,
To meet the icy terrors of the year;
To meet the threats of Boreas undismay’d,
And Winter’s gathering frowns and hoary head.
Then welcome, cold; welcome, ye snowy nights!
Heaven ’midst your rage shall mingle pure delights,
And confidence of hope the soul sustain,
While devastation sweeps along the plain:
Nor shall the child of poverty despair,
But bless the Power that rules the changing year;
Assur’d—though horrors round his cottage reign—
That Spring will come, and Nature smile again.
Bloomfield.