A HYMN OF PRAISE.
O what gracious gifts are ours, when on every hand
Bursting buds and blushing flowers beautify the land;
Till a host of treasures lie, delicate and sweet,
'Neath the mantle of the sky, crushed by careless feet.
Many a floral gem is hid in a casket green,
But a zephyr lifts the lid and its worth is seen;
Through the meadows broad and fair, violets demure
Scatter incense rich and rare, happy and secure.
As the seasons glide along, earth's a pleasant place,
Just a miracle of song, typical of grace:
Wondrous visions charm the eye while the moments flee,
Each a message from on high sent to you and me.
See the swallows, how they roam in a ceaseless flight,
Ever on the wing for home chanting their delight.
Dare we steep our raptured souls in external bliss
As life's mystery uprolls from fate's dull abyss?
Hark! the magic touch of Spring wakes a tender chord,
O it is a joy to bring tribute to our Lord;
Jesus calls us from despair, offers peace for strife;
Our's the gift of praise and prayer; His, eternal life.