Summer’s over, fall is here. A summer without baseball, without a vacation, without a backyard cookout with the neighbors: without a lot of things. But we did have birds and butterflies, and flowers, and God’s blue sky, green grass, and shining sun.
Thomas Moore wrote poems that bring a tear to the eye; The Last Rose of Summer is one of them. Andre Rieu and his orchestra perform it here.
Without Christ, the losses would be unbearable; but He said, “Behold, I make all things new” (Rev. 21:5) And we believe Him.