Raising young voices in the early day,
That never to her ear had seem'd so sweet;
And the soft murmur of a thousand rills
Proclaim'd how Spring had loosed them on the hills.

The bright Evangel came, girt round with mirth,
And garlanded with youth, and crown'd with flowers
"Awake! arise! ye sons of the new birth,
And move to the quick measure of the hours!
Summer is coming--go ye forth to meet her,
With sweetest hymeneal songs to greet her."

So there arose straightway a joyous train,
Gather'd by every nook and hedgerow shade,
That in its passage o'er the verdant plain,
'Still in the heart a thrilling music made--
Sweet pilgrims they of Love in youth's gay time,
Leading the year on to its golden prime.

The birds sang homage to her evermore;
And myriad wingèd things, whose radiant dyes
Made sunshine beautiful, still hover'd o'er,
And bore her witness in the sunlit skies;
And rising from the tomb in glad amaze,
Came many a sainted flower to hymn her praise.

Thus from the streams, and rivers, from the sea,
From the stirr'd bosom of the mighty hills,
From every glade there rose continually
A blessing for her, till with joyous thrills