 | Hagar |  |
SPRING FLOWERS.
The flowers of spring have come once more,
The gay, the gentle flowers;
They scatter all their sweetness o'er
This fair bright land of ours.
The pale Spring beauty lifts her cup
Veined o'er with faintest rose,
While frail anemones look up
And soft their lips unclose;
And buttercups their vases fill
With beams of purest gold,
We loved them as a child, and still
They gladden as of old.
And in the fields, on every side
Where the ferns and grasses grow,
Gay painted cups all scarlet dyed,
With the tender violets blow,
Blue violets bathed in morning dew,
The fairest flowers of spring!
That thrill the inmost being through
With the fresh glad thoughts they bring.
The gay, the gentle flowers;
They scatter all their sweetness o'er
This fair bright land of ours.
The pale Spring beauty lifts her cup
Veined o'er with faintest rose,
While frail anemones look up
And soft their lips unclose;
And buttercups their vases fill
With beams of purest gold,
We loved them as a child, and still
They gladden as of old.
And in the fields, on every side
Where the ferns and grasses grow,
Gay painted cups all scarlet dyed,
With the tender violets blow,
Blue violets bathed in morning dew,
The fairest flowers of spring!
That thrill the inmost being through
With the fresh glad thoughts they bring.
From crowded homes, in narrow courts,
With their faces pale and lorn,
The little children wander forth
On the clear still Sabbath morn;
O'er field and marsh, in forest bowers,
Their tireless footsteps stray,
To gather pure thoughts with the flowers,
They bear with them away.
And poor tired wanderers that come
From lands beyond the sea,
Leave want and care, once more to roam
Where winds go wandering free.
And like friend's faces, that their eyes
Had thought to see no more,
Are flowers they loved 'neath dearer skies
Seen on a foreign shore.
O, not alone to gladden those
Who move on a thornless way,
God sends each little flower that blows,
To bask in the morning ray!
But He gives to all, as the light and dew
Which bless this earth of ours,
As His love is spread the wide earth through
So live and bloom the flowers.
With their faces pale and lorn,
117
On the clear still Sabbath morn;
O'er field and marsh, in forest bowers,
Their tireless footsteps stray,
To gather pure thoughts with the flowers,
They bear with them away.
And poor tired wanderers that come
From lands beyond the sea,
Leave want and care, once more to roam
Where winds go wandering free.
And like friend's faces, that their eyes
Had thought to see no more,
Are flowers they loved 'neath dearer skies
Seen on a foreign shore.
O, not alone to gladden those
Who move on a thornless way,
God sends each little flower that blows,
To bask in the morning ray!
But He gives to all, as the light and dew
Which bless this earth of ours,
As His love is spread the wide earth through
So live and bloom the flowers.
| Hagar | |