The Summer of Saint Luke

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
A song contented and serene;
And smiling to its artless lay
The Summer of Saint Luke is seen!

A painter was Saint Luke, I hear,
And I believe 'tis as they say;
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,
The Summer of Saint Luke is seen!

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:
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!

Friend, art thou withered, old, and grey?
Not always shalt thou droop, I ween:
Heaven respite sends thee, if thou pray —
The Summer of Saint Luke is seen!