The tender Earth that smiles when kissed by Spring;
The flowers; the budding woods; the birds that sing
The Summer's song her spirit to me bring.
The meadows cool that breathe their fragrant myrrh;
Deep, placid pools that little breezes blur;
Soft-tinkling springs speak to my heart of her.
Heaven's purple towers upon the horizon's rim;
The dove that mourns upon his lonely limb,
Fill my soul's cup with memories to its brim.
In evening's calm when in the quiet skies,
The lustrous, silent, tender stars uprise,
I feel the holy influence of her eyes.
That deeper hour when Night with Dawn is blent,
And Silence stirs, its languors well-nigh spent,
I hear her gently sigh with sweet content.
I hear young children laughing in the street:
Catch rays of sunshine from them as we meet,
And smile content to know what makes them sweet.
Yea, everywhere, in every righteous strife,
I find her spirit's fragrant influence rife,
Like Mary's precious spikenard sweetening Life.