Who said the Spring was dead?

She would not come again,

Dust on her starry head,

For a sad world in pain?

The thing they have said in vain,

She comes new garlanded:

Lovely on hill and plain

Her lights, her flowers are shed.

Never was such a May!

Mercy of God, to prove

Life springs from the clay

And every treasured love

Walks in a heavenly grove.

The Lord God's holiday

To the soft coo of the dove

With the young lambs at play.

Lo! yours, and yours, are there,

I see them leap and run

In a May-world past compare

Whereof our God is sun.

They rejoice, yea, every one

In the ambient light and air,

Their pleasures are not done

From morn till evening star.

Never was such a Spring!

Oh, you whose eyes are wet,

Listen, take comforting,

Our God does not forget.

Poor folk that fear and fret

Your hours are on the wing

To the loves that wait you yet,

Raised up and triumphing.