And feast on joys that long have fled,
By sacred memories' glowing trace
More than the heart untouched by grace,
Can drink from full fruition's stream,
Or paint in fancy's wildest dream.
O God! thou art the life of spring,
The source of all the seasons bring,
The soul of all the joys we know,
The fountain whence our pleasures flow.
While nature wakes from winter's sleep,