Sweetly the song of spring's first meadow lark
Falls on the listening and grateful ear;
Though clouds hang low, though chill the day and dark,
His notes rise jubilant, and sweet, and clear.
What of the sky? His joyous song doth mark
The spring's glad days, most welcome of the year.
And hid in modest secrecy away
From storm's rough blast, beneath their foliage green,
The tender violets in glad array
Lift up their grateful faces to the rain.
They ask nor praise nor notice; night and day
They bloom in fragrant solitude unseen.
And what of God's own image, who can claim
Dominion over earth, and sky, and sea?
Ah, brother man, lift up thy head, nor shame
The face of nature. God hath given thee
Most wondrous powers. Then sing His holy name
In grateful praise through all adversity.
For, lo, that day is here when He shall reign
Whose right it is, through all eternity.
