Now the spirit of the flood is awake, And the
spirit of the wood is stirred, And the spirit of the air is beautiful and fair, And so is the song of the bird.
And there cometh a whisper of Spring,
And its footfall is light on the sea,
And it cometh from the South, with a jewel in its mouth, And it bringeth a blessing to me.
And the bare bough is rustling with leaves, And the dark earth is glistening with gold, And the land is all sheen with the coming o' the green, And a new world is born of the old.
And it is not the work of a mar, Who plieth his task here and there; Not in single bud and flower, but universal power, It cometb, mighty Spirit, everywhere.
And the hawthorn is snowy in the brake,
And the dear lark is singing up on high,
And the young things are sprouting, the young children shouting, And the old tears awake in the eye.
For earth was a Paradise once,
And life all a jubilee then,
But the glory once seen in the coming o' the green Departs when we come to be men.
For sweet is the lily in the bed, And sweet is the flower on the wall, But sweeter the tear and the pity of the dead, For the old things were sweetest of all. A. G. B.
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