A Fireside Song - A poem by Frederick J. Atwood

A Fireside Song.

The calendar marks Winter,
The mercury is low,
The ground is white, and all is bright
With the brilliance of the snow.

Within our home is springtime^___
Sunshine and warmth are there^___
A rosebud blooms and fills our rooms
With beauty rich and rare.

So what care we for winter?
Jack Frost may come and go-
The snow may stay or melt away,
We heed it not, for oh!^___

A bud from off Love's rosebush
Has fallen at our feet;
We nourish it and cherish it,
For it is wondrous sweet.

It tells of Love's great mystery^___
Of Life's strange genesis;
It draws our hearts with all the arts
Of perfect artlessness.

We watch its slow unfolding,
We guard it with all care;
Tho 't is so small, it's to ns all
That seems most sweetly fair.

To him who made the flowers
And singing birds and light,
We humbly pray, "Oh, guard alway
Our tender bud from blight."

1895.

^__Frederick J. Atwood.