OH, the perfect peace and quiet 

Of the fair midsummer day, 

As upon the rippling waters 

Heaven's lights and shadows play. 

From the depths of distant woodlands 

Hear the robin's piping call, 

While the breezes through the tree-tops 

Croon a lullaby for all. 

Far from city haunt and bustle 

Came we on a summer's morn; 

'Neath the shine of heaven's glory 

Lingering till the week was gone. 

Ah, could hearts grow cold and selfish, 

Or forgetful of the "Best," 

As in God's own grandest temples 

Heart and mind sought daily rest? 

Life must have its winter season, 

Summer cannot last for aye; 

Storms must come, and storm clouds follow 

Brightest sunshine in the sky; 

But the peace that maketh perfect, 

Never-dying, gladsome rest, 

Only comes when there is cherished 

Love's sweet summer in each breast. 

Love, which goeth on forever, 

Hand and hand with charity; 

Love, which wearies not, nor faileth 

In its gentle sympathy; 

Love, which has its sweet beginning 

In the God whose name is Love: 

Then, indeed, will peace and gladness 

Make the bluest skies above.


—Mary D. Brine,

 in Christian Weekly.