Bad times

The bad times are sad times !

The leaves are fading and falling,
The winds are rough and wild,
The birds have ceased their calling,
But, let me tell you my child.

Though day by day as it closes,
Doth darker and colder grow,
The roots of the bright red roses,
Will keep alive in the snow.

And when the winter is over,
The boughs will get back their leaves,
The quail come back to the clover,
And the swallows back to the leaves

The robin will wear on his bosom,
A vest that is bright and new,
And the loveliest wayside blossom
Will shine with the sun and the dew

The leaves, today, are swishin,
The brooks are all dry and dumb;
But let me tell you darling,
The spring will surely come.

There must be rough cold weather,
And winds and rains so wild;
Not all good things come together,
Come to us here, my child.

So when some dear joy loses
Its beauteous summer glow,
Think how the roots of the roses
Are kept alive in the snow.