Heaven’s brightest gems are gleaming in thy tresses;
Thy voice of melody bids discord cease;
And ’neath the magic of thy fond caresses,
All earth grows beautiful, fair dawn of peace.
Earth’s feathered minstrels plume their wings with gladness,
And hail thy coming with a burst of song;
While weary Age, bowed down with care and sadness,
Passes contented through life’s busy throng.
What though the summer of our lives be over,
Our steps may falter, but our hearts rejoice,