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SPRING.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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6

SPRING.

The cuckoo calls across the woods,
In pauses of the shower,
The daffodils and mary-buds
Are breaking into flower.
The lark soars o'er the growing wheat,
Close to the gates of day;
The blackbird whistles clear and sweet
From yonder hawthorn spray.
Sweet airs adown the purple hills,
Play through the fragrant grass,
And whisper to the little rills,
That warble as they pass.
Anemones all wet with dew
Are trembling in the breeze,
And from sweet bells and buds of blue
Come murmurous songs of bees.

7

The hyacinth now scents the lanes,
The primrose stars the grove,
And mating birds in sweetest strains,
Pour out their hearts in love.
My heart is happy as the bird
That makes the copses ring,
It sings, although no voice is heard,
Because it feels the spring.
Hope pulses through the restless blood,
New life is in the air,
Now stirs the sap within the bud,
And all the world is fair.
O blessed spring! When leaves unfold,
When hills and daisied sod
Shine like the sacred bush of old,
And burn with fires of God.
And sorrows go, and griefs depart,
Because the world is gay,
And troubles fall from off the heart,
That feels the coming May.