Classic Poem

'Tis the season when nature awakes from her sleep,
When the eye that was closed to the world takes a peep,
When the blanket of snow is no longer in sight—
It is lost in the warmth of the sun's merry light.

As we hark to the music of birds of the spring,
Mother Nature re-echoes the songs that they sing;
Ev'ry hue of the flowers unfold on the scene,
While the earth for herself takes a carpet of green.

When the fowls of the air, with a strange harmony,
To their mates will repair and in love will agree,
While the fish of the deep will their beauty display,
And the beasts of the field are so blithesome and gay.

'Tis the time when the angel the stone rolled away
From the door of the tomb on a bright Easter Day,
When the Saviour of Life and of Light did arise,
And the Comforter send from. His home in the skies.

Wicked self is the stone, which the angel of love,
From the door of the soul, if allowed, will remove;
And the best of a spirit that long was concealed
Will arise, and the spring-time of life be revealed.