Winter Has A Joy For Me, While The Saviour'S Charms I Read, Lowly, Meek, From Blemish Free, In The Snowdrop'S Pensive Head. Spring Returns, And Brings Along Life-Invigorating Suns: Hark! The Turtle'S Plaintive Song Seems To Speak His Dying Groans! Summer Has A Thousand Charms, All Expressive Of His Worth; 'Tis His Sun That Lights And Warms, His The Air That Cools The Earth. What! Has Autumn Left To Say Nothing Of A Saviour'S Grace? Yes, The Beams Of Milder Day Tell Me Of His Smiling Face. Light Appears With Early Dawn, While The Sun Makes Haste To Rise; See His Bleeding Beauties Drawn On The Blushes Of The Skies. Evening With A Silent Pace, Slowly Moving In The West, Shows An Emblem Of His Grace, Points To An Eternal Rest.