SUMMER
In rapture we sing the winter is gane,
Its terrific storm, the sleet and the rain.
The wild howling’ winds have a’ flown awa’,
And the valleys in splendour are buskit sae braw.
Ance mair Dame Fortune’s sweet smiling face
Reveals unto man God’s bounteous grace.
The bonnie bluebell, the white daisy and gowan,
The bramble and hip, the haw and the rowan,
And the sturdy Scotch thistle that jags like a preen,
And the dark mountain heather are now to be seen.
There’s roses and posies o’ the sweetest perfume,
And geraniums and fuchsias for the invalid’s room.
By the murmuring streams the fields they are gay,
The corn, wheat, and barley are in gorgeous array.
The meadows sae green and the mountains sae blue,
And the vines and the orchards are pleasant tae view.
The luxuries of life, all over the land,
Are granted to all by a kind Father’s hand.
