The Violets Again
The Violets again! The violets again!
Their blue faces smile in the lea-hedge and lane,
By the well in the village, and down by the mere
Where the queen-fays are playing when moonlight is clear,
And up mid the bracken where crags catch the rain:
‘Tis spring-time, ‘tis spring-time—the violets again!
They gladden the schoolboy and quicken the sage;
They fling their sweet smells over childhood and age:
The sick one is cheered with glances so dear,
And the ploughman sings louder to know they are near,
And whistles the driver beside the wide wain:
‘Tis spring-time, ‘tis spring-time—the violets again!
In forest and fallow they shine in their beds
As blue as the firmament over our heads;
And sounds from their moss-homes are murmuring all day,
That man should be grateful and evermore pray:
For the God of the flowers has made nothing in vain:
‘Tis spring-time, ‘tis spring-time—the violets again!
Then let us not murmur, but honour his hand
Whose blossoms of beauty are filling the land.
How they gleam in the dingles, and wave ‘neath the trees,
For evermore wafting His name on the breeze!
Though changes o’ertake us, we will not complain:
‘Tis spring-time, ‘tis spring-time—the violets again!
