  The spirit of the shower, Of the sunshine and the breeze, Of the dewy twilight hour, Of the bud and opening flower, My soul delighted sees. Stern winter's robe of gray, Beneath thy balmy sigh, Like mist-wreaths melt away, When the rosy laughing day Lifts up his golden eye.— Spirit of ethereal birth, Thy azure banner floats, In lucid folds, o'er air and earth, And budding woods pour forth their mirth In rapture-breathing notes. I see upon the fleecy cloud The spreading of thy wings; The hills and vales rejoice aloud, And Nature, starting from her shroud, To meet her bridegroom springs. Spirit of the rainbow zone, Of the fresh and breezy morn,— Spirit of climes where joy alone For ever hovers round thy throne, On wings of light upborne, Eternal youth is in thy train With rapture-beaming eyes, And Beauty, with her magic chain, And Hope, that laughs at present pain, Points up to cloudless skies. Spirit of love, of life, and light! Each year we hail thy birth— The day-star from the grave of night That set to rise in skies more bright,— To bless the sons of earth With leaf—and bud—and perfumed flower, Still deck the barren sod; In thee we trace a higher power, In thee we claim a brighter dower, The day-spring of our God!— |
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