When springtime comes to Monaree I know
How the blue hyacinths blow,
And how the daffodil lights its golden glow.
These blossoms are remembrancers of those
Who lie in long repose,
Lost to our earthly scenes of joys and woes,—
The saints of other days. How fair to see
These living emblems be
Of their good deeds — with spring at Monaree!