The day of wintry wrath is o'er, The whirlwind and the storm have pass'd, The whiten'd ashes of the snow Enwrap the ruined world no more;
Nor keenly from the orient blow The venom'd hissings of the blast. The frozen tear-drops of despair Have melted from the trembling thorn;
Hope plumes unseen her radiant wing, And lo! amid the expectant air, The trumpet of the angel Spring Proclaims the resurrection morn.
Oh! what a wave of gladsome sound Runs rippling round the shores of space, As the requicken'd earth upheaves The swelling bosom of the ground,
And Death's cold pallor, startled, leaves The deepening roses of her face. Up from their graves the dead arise — The dead and buried flowers of spring;—
Up from their graves in glad amaze, Once more to view the long-lost skies, Resplendent with the dazzling rays Of their great coming Lord and King.
And lo! even like that mightiest one, In the world's last and awful hour, Surrounded by the starry seven, So comes God's greatest work, the sun,
Upborne upon the clouds of heaven, In pomp, and majesty, and power. The virgin snowdrop bends its head Above its grave in grateful prayer;
The daisy lifts its radiant brow, With a saint's glory round it shed; The violet's worth, unhidden now, Is wafted wide by every air.
The parent stem reclasps once more Its long-lost severed buds and leaves; Once more the tender tendrils twine Around the forms they clasped of yore
The very rain is now a sign Great Nature's heart no longer grieves. And now the judgment-hour arrives, And now their final doom they know;
No dreadful doom is theirs whose birth Was not more stainless than their lives; ‘ Tis Goodness calls them from the earth, And Mercy tells them where to go.
Some of them fly with glad accord, Obedient to the high behest, To worship with their fragrant breath Around the altars of the Lord;
And some, from nothingness and death, Pass to the heaven of beauty's breast. Oh, let the simple fancy be Prophetic of our final doom;
Grant us, O Lord, when from the sod Thou deign'st to call us too, that we Pass to the bosom of our God From the dark nothing of the tomb!
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