TO S. C.
HOW beautiful, how beautiful
Is every scene to-day!
How beautiful are all His works
In this fair month of May!
While blossoms blush on hill and plain,
And song-birds sing their sweet refrain,
I'd on thine altar lay
Is every scene to-day!
How beautiful are all His works
In this fair month of May!
While blossoms blush on hill and plain,
And song-birds sing their sweet refrain,
I'd on thine altar lay
A gift. O, may it bear a charm,
A cure for every ill!
Thy Saviour poured the precious balm
Which these pure leaves distill;
Twill satisfy thy longing heart,
A holy influence impart,
And all desires fulfill.
A cure for every ill!
Thy Saviour poured the precious balm
Which these pure leaves distill;
Twill satisfy thy longing heart,
A holy influence impart,
And all desires fulfill.
