I COME wrap the crocus in his winding-sheet, For lowly lies his head: His wind-blown petals torn with snow and sleet, And March, the slayer, fled. II Lo! Easter comes, and with the uprisen God A million chimes awake: The grass springs greener from the dripping sod, The lily scents the brake. III And Nature hails her cardinal high-priest With music all her own; Her choirs await his chariot in the East, And his bright service crown. IV Till every glade takes up the festal song, And every rill unites— 'Glory to Him to Whom all joys belong, Hosanna in the heights!' |