 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
SPRING-TIME.
The wintry reign of death is past,
New life is throbbing in the ground;
The world breaks into bloom at last,
And with rich beauty earth is crowned.
New life is throbbing in the ground;
The world breaks into bloom at last,
And with rich beauty earth is crowned.
241
Beneath the breath of jocund Spring
Soft buds unclose, sweet flowers unfold,
And wild birds make the copses ring,
And genial airs blow o'er the wold.
Soft buds unclose, sweet flowers unfold,
And wild birds make the copses ring,
And genial airs blow o'er the wold.
The greening fields, the purple hills,
Low-piping winds, and gentle showers,
Light fleecy clouds, and tuneful rills,
Herald the happy coming hours.
Low-piping winds, and gentle showers,
Light fleecy clouds, and tuneful rills,
Herald the happy coming hours.
Vocal the world with Spring's sweet voice,
Awakening life in lowly dells,
Bidding the mountain-tops rejoice,
Breathing where snowdrops ring their bells.
Awakening life in lowly dells,
Bidding the mountain-tops rejoice,
Breathing where snowdrops ring their bells.
Great type of that fair Easter-Day
Which comes in fragrant beauty drest,
To chase Death's triumphs all away,
And bring the weary endless rest.
Which comes in fragrant beauty drest,
To chase Death's triumphs all away,
And bring the weary endless rest.
For oh, what sowing there has been
Through all these long and dreary years!
How watered earth's sad wintry scene,
With dark-robed mourners' flowing tears!
Through all these long and dreary years!
How watered earth's sad wintry scene,
With dark-robed mourners' flowing tears!
But Spring is coming, and the hour
When to the far remotest line,
The world shall blossom into flower,
And in the light of heaven shine.
When to the far remotest line,
The world shall blossom into flower,
And in the light of heaven shine.
242
Christ! hasten on that glorious time,
Gather the ripened harvest in;
Let the sweet bells of heaven chime,
And strike the end of Death and Sin!
Gather the ripened harvest in;
Let the sweet bells of heaven chime,
And strike the end of Death and Sin!
For when the graves their treasures yield,
From north and south, and east and west,
The earth shall seem like some fair field
Which the good Lord hath richly blest.
From north and south, and east and west,
The earth shall seem like some fair field
Which the good Lord hath richly blest.
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |