Classic Poem

What will the violets be
There in the Spring of springs?
What will the bird-song be
Where the very tree-bough sings?
What will their Easter be
Where never are dead to mourn,
But brightly the faces ask,
‘O, when will the rest be born?’

Brighter the Easter shines
On the faces here below,
That they are behind the flowers,
The heart of the living glow.
Beautiful secret, wait!
A morrow or two, and we
Shall know in the Spring of springs
What the violets will be.