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A year is gone, again the spring
Returns in tender verdure clad,
The little children’s hearts are glad,
And robins in the maple sing.
A boy is playing with the rim
Of some discarded carriage-wheel,
A large and rusty rim of steel,
Which on the lawn lends sport to him.
To me it speaks of circling years,
Of circling Providence and Fate,
And the return of this sad date,
The day of loss and bitter tears.
“Let children play” I heard him say,
“The cares of life will come full soon;”
The sun is dancing with the moon,
At the beginning of the day.
I hear a child sing a refrain,
A song his mother sings full oft,
The laddie’s voice is clear and soft,
An anodyne for sorrow’s pain.
I see another munching bread,
It seems much sweeter in the free,
Beneath the budding apple-tree,
With soaring April clouds o’er head.
Clouds growing denser and more dark;
The rain begins to spot the ground,
There is a gleam, and then a sound,
Which make the children stop and hark.
And one is crying out in fear,
And all are skurrying for home;
O, well for him to whom doth come
Its comfort, when the storms appear!