APRIL
O, I love the month of April, when the southwind gently blows,
Calling nature from its slumber, from cold winter’s long repose,
Till the meadow its awakening by a tint of verdure shows,
And the willow with bright saffron in the evening sunshine glows;
When the meadow-lark is standing on the fence-post, with its throat
Lifted up to merry lovesongs which across the prairies float;
When the robin on the house-lawn proudly stands in his red coat,
Then a-sudden makes departure with a shrill and happy note;—
When the air is full of meaning, clothed in life’s sweet mystery,
Touching all things with its magic, even with love’s ecstasy,
And you see it and you feel it, it is upon land and sea,
It is nature’s Easter dawning after drear Gethsemane.
And the children’s faces brighten, and their laughter has a ring
Which no winter-sport could give them, and no lamplight play could bring;
Even the aged in whose bosom life’s enchantments seldom sing,
Take a pleasure in the message of this happy month of spring.
Jocund April, lovely April, of all months my choice thou art,
Since in thee there is a solace for all nature’s weary heart,
And in thee there is a promise that we all shall have a part
In the hope which man professes through his worship and his art.
I’M A PART OF THE WIND AND THE CURLING WAVE
I’m a part of the wind and the curling wave,
Of the budding trees and the tender blade,
A part of the life that has burst its grave,
Of crocus and buttercup studding the glade,
Of the goose-berry bush and the shadow it throws,
Of the moss on the rocks and the slender ferns,
Of the burly weed that earliest grows,
And all that quickens and upward yearns.
I’m a part of the light, and the golden flash
Of the flicker’s wing o’er the glittering pond,
Of the sable crow in the lofty ash,
A-calling his mate in the trees beyond;
Of the dragon-fly’s gossamer wing and flight;
Of the insect just risen from winter’s sleep;
Of things that find in the sun delight,
Whether they blossom, or fly, or creep.
A part of the risen life and the all
Eternal Spirit, anew each spring,
Wherefore I follow its kindly call,
To hear the carol His angels sing,—
What saith it? O, you must hear it alone,
In the paths of the woods on an April day,
And feel, as I do, you are truly one
With nature—to fathom the glorious lay.