Poems (Gifford)/Spring Flowers

by Elizabeth Gifford

SPRING FLOWERS.

It is not all a barren waste,
 This brown, this frost-bound earth;
Spring calls with vivifying power
 All nature to new birth.

This is not all a cheerless life,
 Though many a dear hope dies;
From weariness, and loss, and grief,
 Reviving joys arise.

God reigneth still, God loveth still,
 God for us still doth care;
And, though He send the withering blast,
 Mercy is everywhere.

Death is not victor, though he take
 Our beautiful, our best;
Our Father hath but bidden him
 Hush them awhile to rest.

There comes a resurrection day,
 That shall make all things plain,
The mysteries of life and death,
 The meaning of all pain.

So say the flowers, as year by year,
 Their beauty is renewed,
And gladder, stronger grow our hearts,
 With this great hope imbued.

First from their wintry prison-house
 The pure white snowdrops spring,
And with them the frilled aconites
 Hold friendly communing.

Then come the vase-like crocuses
 In royal colours gay,
And pink and blue hepaticas,
 As beautiful as they.

And soon the floral train o'erspreads
 Moorlands, and vales, and hills,
Sweet violets nestle in the shade,
 Bright kingcups stud the rills.

Daisies and buttercups untold
 Bestrew the fresh green leas,
And starry yellow primroses,
 Cluster beneath the trees.

And then succeed wild hyacinths
 To flowers of paler hue,
Giving the widespread woodland floor
 A carpeting of blue.

Each cultured spot is now attired
 In glorious array,
There countless beauteous rival gems
 Their varied charms display.

Narcissi, wallflowers, pansies grow
 Luxuriantly there,
And then the rhododendrons bloom,
 And lilacs scent the air.

So, on they come in order due,
 The welcome vernal posies,
Till the laburnums and the may
 Blend with the early roses.

And all the same grand chorus join;
 Oh, to learn all they teach!
For He Who told the lilies' tale,
 A message sends by each.