The wintry winds have ceased to blow,
And trembling leaves appear;
And fairest flowers succeed the snow,
And hail the infant year.
So, when the world and all its woes
Are vanish'd far away,
Fair scenes and wonderful repose
Shall bless the new-born day —
When, from the confines of the grave,
The body too shall rise,
No more precarious passion's slave,
Nor error's sacrifice.
‘ Tis but a sleep — and Sion's king
Will call the many dead;
‘ Tis but a sleep — and then we sing
O'er dreams of sorrow fled.
Yes!— wintry winds have ceased to blow,
And trembling leaves appear,
And Nature has her types to show
Throughout the varying year.