University of Virginia Library

SPRING.

“Earth breaks forth into singing;” for the Spring,
So like an infant with its angel smile,
Reclines upon her bosom, and the sun
Looks lovingly upon her, and his gifts
Of joy and beauty deck her gloriously.
Behold the bright green mantle, rich with flowers
Of every form and hue, which he has thrown
So bounteously around her!—See the plumes
Of leafy beauty, of a thousand shades,
Red, brown, and yellow, mingled here and there
With silvery clusters of the trembling asp,
All merging to the pale and tender green
Of the advancing foliage of the Spring!
The diamond waters sparkle in rich chains
Upon her bosom, mingling with her wreaths;
And music, from a thousand living bells,
Gushing in chorus to the sacred song
Which winds and waters chaunt continually
To Him who gave them voices.
Look abroad!—
All life is full of gladness. See the sports
Of the young innocents!—Behold the joy
Of fond maternal hearts, of speechless things,
To which Spring brings the younglings! Beautiful,
And sweet, and thankful; full of songs and bliss
The wide earth seemeth now. The placid heaven
Bends over, as if gazing with delight
And listening joyously. Gracefully now
The white cloud veils the azure, and bright drops
From the dark fringe are falling, as if heaven
Looked on the fair earth, as a mother looks
Upon her happy children, with soft tears
Upon her smiling beauty, as she feels
That there must come a day when all this joy
And tender beauty will have passed away.
The air is gently flowing o'er the earth,
Like living waves of melody and balm,
Laving her gems of every splendid tint,
Which give back every kiss, with incense sigh.
Earth, air, and water—all is melody,
And light, and balm, and beauty.
How unlike
The cold white drifts, dark clouds, and piercing winds
That formed the train of Winter!
Who has wrought
This glorious change? Who sent the gentle Spring
To wake and warm the silent frozen earth,
And deck her thus in beauty? Who attuned
The wild bird's song of love? Who wove the flowers,
And touched their wondrous texture with rich hues,
As if the glorious arch o'er which the shower
Pursues his sounding march, what time the sun
Looks on the triumph of his streaming plumes,
Had melted in the beam, and every gem
That glittered in the arch had found a home,
A calm, sweet home of love, within the breast
Of its own chosen blossom? Who has brought
From tomb and winding-sheet, in which the worm
Lay powerless, sightless, senseless, seemingly
Inanimate, these splendid butterflies,
Which look as if their wings and velvet coats
Were braided of the brightest tints of earth,
Dipped in the radiance of the sunny heaven?
It is Jehovah!—He who framed the earth,
And all the worlds that fill infinity—
Who wrought the mystery of the human mind,
And gives it food for all its godlike powers,
In this profusion of his glorious works,
This treasury of beauty, melody,
Fragrance, and glory, and intelligence,
From man, in his perfection, to the least
Of living things which float upon one ray
Of the diffusive sunlight.
Oh, it seems
To fill the soul, and bring it near to God,
In this soft springtime to observe his hand
In each awakening blessing; and to muse
Upon that spring when we shall all awake,
Changed, like the worms that burst their tombs, to float
On wings of glory o'er the spring-clad earth,
Upon the balmy breezes. Then shall death
Be “swallowed up in victory.” Then shall He
Who walked the darkest pathway to the tomb,
And wrenched away its black and massive bars,
And burst its bonds asunder, call his own
From out the shattered prison.
Then shall rise
A glorious Anthem of immortal songs,
To Him who is the Sunlight of this Spring
Of Everlasting Life.