Spring, the recurring, forevermore bringing
Joy in rich fullness, in gladness upspringing;
Touched by no sadness we watch its receding,
Sure its return waits no sorrowful pleading;
Glad of its promise, its questioning truth—
Why not thus joy in the presence of youth?
Spring, the unchanging, with fragrance upwelling,
Ever exultant, of sweet fruitage telling,
Sunshine or shade, with rich promises teeming,
Certain of future triumphant redeeming,
Never a murmur of doubting—forsooth,
Shall we not thus reckon largely with youth?
Spring, the eternal, time's passage defying,
All of its ravages calmly denying,
Year after year in glad freshness unfolding—
Ah, our sad eyes are slow in beholding!
When in spring's advent we vision God's truth,
Then shall we harbor perennial youth!
