HAIL, beauteous Spring! Once more rude Winter’s hand
Yields forth the treasures which throughout the land,
Low buried in the garden or the field,
For many weary months have lain concealed.
Now bursting from his icy grasp once more,
As if rejoiced that wintry storms are o’er,
They gently rise from out their frozen beds,
And lift to view their various colored heads.
With joy we see bleak Winter disappear,
And welcome thee, blest season of the year;
Thy gentle presence makes our hearts rejoice,
And nature smiles to hear thy well-known voice.
Oh, lovely Spring, where’er our footsteps stray,
Fresh tokens of thy coming cross our way—
The tiny snowdrop, with its modest head
Just peeping from beneath its snowy bed,
Seems to proclaim to every passerby
The joyful news that Spring is drawing nigh;
While buttercups and daisies catch the sound,
And quickly echo forth the news around,
Till nature summons all her powers to sing,
“Welcome, right welcome to the coming Spring.”
Roused by the distant song, the primrose fair,
No longer shrinking from the frosty air,
Anxious to gaze upon the scene around,
Bursts through the surface of the frozen ground,
Opens her petals to the morning sun,
And seems to say, “My prison days are done.”
The circling fields no longer clothed in white,
Present a beautiful and cheering sight;
For even they have heard thy welcome voice,
And seem as though they could not but rejoice.
While e’en the feathered songsters seem to say,
“Spring has returned and Winter passed away!”
But ah, thy gentle reign will soon be o’er:
The golden Summer, laden with her store,
Is on the wing, to grace our garden bowers
With rich profusions of her choicest flowers;
To clothe the leafless trees with velvet green,
And scatter fragrance o’er the blooming scene.
I love through sunny vales to wend my way,
Or ‘neath the shade of forest trees to stray,
To catch at intervals the glorious sun
Sinking to rest when his day’s work is done.
Then, filled with meditation passing sweet,
The glittering streamlet murmuring at my feet,
I love to spend an hour in solitude,
Alone with nature, and with nature’s God.
There on the wings of faith my spirit soars
Far, far away, to those eternal shores
Whose banks are graced with never-fading flowers,
Such as ne’er blossomed in earth’s fairest bowers.
No chilling winds can ever enter there,
But sweetest music fills the balmy air,
While evergreens by crystal fountains grow,
And brooks and vales with milk and honey flow.
There verdant fields are clothed in living green,
Such as no mortal eye hath ever seen,
While gentle zephyrs rustle through the trees,
And sweetest perfumes float along the breeze.
Oh happy land, though earth at times seems fair,
I could not make my habitation here—
Thy gates are pearl, Thy streets are paved with gold,
Thy beauties never, never can be told:
Soon shall I tread those blissful courts above,
In converse with the Saviour whom I love;
His never-ending praises I shall sing
Throughout a long eternity of spring.