The summer days are come again; once more the glad earth yields her golden wealth of ripening grain, and breath of clover fields, and deepening shade of summer woods, and glow of summer air, and winging thoughts and happy moods of love and joy and prayer. The summer days are come again; the birds are on the wing; God's praises, in their loving strain, unconsciously they sing. We know who giveth all the good that doth our cup o'erbrim; for summer joy in field and wood we lift our song to him.
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