A CALL TO SPRING

Where art thou, tardy Spring? E’en while my song I sing Thou shouldst be with us. O, couldst thou only see What welcome waiteth thee, In field and forest. Art held by winter fast, And hast not power to cast Off his rude shackles? Too long has been his reign, Summon thy fairy train, Charge him to loose thee. Come to thy woodland bower, Green grass and op’ning flower Will spring to greet thee. Red-vested troubadour Hath left a sunny shore, That he may cheer thee. Blue-coated minstrelsy Waiteth impatiently For thy glad coming. Sweet are the songs they sing, As on impatient wing Gaily they flutter. Sweet—that a lover’s notes May burst from feathered throats. Is there a doubter? Did ever regal ear, In ancient ages hear Music diviner? Unto each human life With all its joy and strife, Come, with renewing. Breathe o’er each new-made grave, Till the green grasses wave, Like victory’s banner. Come with thy healing balm, To the sick chamber—calm All who are restless. Breathe o’er each buried hope Till some bright flower shall ope With its peace message. Unto each gladsome heart Come, and thy store impart Of joy and beauty. Lovers are walking near Hast thou no wish to hear What they are saying? If magic be thine art, Unto such lives impart Strength to be faithful. Plead with the tempted heart, That as the green blades start From the dry grasses, So from sin’s death and gloom New life may rise and bloom, And that forever, Nobler than warrior’s claim, Is the undying fame Of souls victorious.