 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
230
EARLY SPRING.
The mighty winds are stirring, like the breathOf God; the big trees shake themselves out free,
And fling their arms abroad and laugh in glee.
Nature is weaving herself a new wreath;
New garments out of old; Life out of Death!
The willow trails its tresses fair to see,
Soft as a Naiad's hair! O'erhead, clouds flee
On their glad missions; waters stir beneath.
The birds are busy with bill, throat, and wing,
With stress of life—joy that will not be dumb.
And Happiness, like some glad new-born thing,
In heart of man and beast doth go and come,
Ne'er resting; while through all a voice doth ring,
As if God spake, “Amen'd” with life's great hum.
| Stones from The Quarry | |