Spring by John Henry Kimble

Rosy morn is brightly breaking,
Cheerful birds melodious sing,
Earth with thankful songs awaking
Hails with joy the merry Spring,
Silver clouds in sunlight glowing
Slowly float the azure dome,
Tender flowers are sweetly blowing
Round each cozy cottage home.

Dreary winter’s icy fingers
Have released the bending tree,
Genial life reviving, lingers
O’er the cold and sterile lea.
From the rocky, snow-clad mountains,
Where the breath of sunny Spring
Has unfettered muffled fountains,
Hear the songs of gladness ring.

In the morn of playful childhood,
With dear friends ‘mid sylvan bowers,
O’er the fields and through the wildwood,
Culling all the choicest flow’rs;
Twining wreaths, each other crowning,
Dew-drops bright for royal gems,
Ne’er a thought of worldly frowning
On the precious diadems.

Marched we on with true devotion,
While the scenes of after years,
Stirr’d the spirits deep emotion,
With alternate hopes and fears.
While before us lay life’s prizes,
Dazzling in the sunlight gleam,—
How we gazed with sad surprises,
When they vanished like a dream.

Many happy hearts grew weary,
Rosy cheeks grew pale and white,
Pleasant paths grew dark and dreary,
Swept by storms of withering blight;
How the changing years have fleeted,
Strewing wrecks on either side,
Cherished schemes have been defeated,
And the cares of age abide.

But when cheery Spring advances,
Crowned with gems of beauty rare,
Pleasure like a fairy, dances
O’er the landscape everywhere,
And the tide of life flows higher,
Gloom’s dark curtains are withdrawn,
And again youth’s hidden fire,
Thrills me as in life’s fresh dawn.