What marvelous new-born glory
Is flushing the garden and lawn!
Hath the queen of all blossoming beauty
Come forth with the early dawn?
Like the first faint flush of morn,
To the watchers, aweary with night,—
Like treasures long hidden away,
Ye burst on my joyous sight.
Not e’en the “first rose of Summer,”
Could yesterday be seen—
Only a tint like the sea-shell,
Deep in a prison of green.
Did the lover-like kiss of the south wind,
While wand’ring o’er forest and lake,
Bid thee start in thy slumbering beauty,
And crimson with blushes awake?
’Tis long since the fragrant lilac
Flourished and drooped at thy side,
While many a frail young flow’ret since
Hath quietly blossomed and died.
And for days the pale, proud lily
In regal beauty hath shown,
Catching the sun’s warm glances
Ere the young roses had blown.
But perfumed breezes are whispering:
“To-day the roses have come,”
And the cottage will rival the palace,
Decked in thy radiant bloom.
[Music.]
The spirit is often enraptured
With sweet tokens of love divine,
But seldom in language so plain
As spoken through music, to mine.
Then my soul flings wide her portals,
And visions of Paradise throng,
While I bow, in silent devotion,
To the Author of genius and song.