The Royal Birthday dawns again, A stricken world to bless; And sufferers forget their pain, And mourners their distress.
Love sings to-day; her eyes so fair With happy tears are wet; She is too humble to despair, Too faithful to forget.
Her voice is very soft and sweet, Her heart is brave and strong; Her vassal, I would fain repeat Some fragments of her song.
A Birthday-song my heart would sing Its rapture to express; My Father's son must be a king, And share His consciousness.
Of God's Self-knowledge comes the Word That utters all His Thought; That Word made Flesh by all is heard Who seek as they are sought.
His seeking and His finding make Our search an easy thing; He sows good seed, and bids us take The joys of harvesting.
Yet must His children do their part, And what He gives accept; No heart can understand His Heart That has not bled and wept.
All seasons, bring they bale or bliss, His priceless treasures hold; The Winter's silver all is His, And His the Summer's gold.
Life's harvest is not reaped until The Christ within has grown To perfect manhood, and self-will By love is overthrown.
Such manhood gained concludes the strife That makes the babe a boy; ‘ T is thus the seed becomes a life, The life becomes a joy.
The eyes that weep are eyes that see, And swift are pilgrim-feet; Ah! hope at length may come to be Than memory more sweet.
So keeping festival to-day, With children's laughter near, It is not hard to sing and pray, ‘ T is hard to doubt or fear.
Father, my heart to Thee I bring, To Thee my song address; From Winter pain and toil of Spring Grows Summer happiness.
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