Have chilled to silence the gay babbling stream,
A memory of its summer music lingers,
Or April violets in the future beam;
To whom the darkness whispers of the dawning,
And sorrow's night tells of the coming day;
And even death is but the twilight morning
Of glory which shall never fade away;—
Teach us thy lesson. Unto us be given
The trusting faith the April flowers display;
Looking in their meek confidence to heaven,—