Aye, the zephers are once again wafting from the glowing south the breath of roses and orange blossoms, and even here, in the broad bounteous plains of the West, the fragrance of the snowy-white plum trees, and the beds of blooming violets suffuse the genial breath of spring with the most grateful odors.
The forests and groves, and even our own sweet, tree-studded lawn, in front, are rapidly assuming the bright, leafy garb, so cheerfully verdent as to make the heart throb with delight, as at early morn the merry wild songsters warble their joyous notes,, to awaken and encourage the husbandman in his honest toil, and cheer the heart that is sad and lonely, or oppressed with the cares of life. It there be real joy for mortals on earth, it is these, combined with the companionship of a quiet home, with "wife, children and friends" and a heart to appreciate heaven's best gifts.
Give us the spring-time, with its bright spring verdure, its fragrant flowers, its music of brooklets and birds, its sighing zephers and soft twilights, its yout-giving, soul-cheering, omnipotence, its glorious sunshine and pattering, reviving showers, its soft velvet carpet of grass, its sweet leafy groves, and hearts of love and friendship, and hands of firmness and truth, and we ask no paradise but earth, and a regal sceptre would be no temptation for fly from these — and even the joys of heaven would scarce compensate in exchange for so great happiness thus beneficently provided by the all-wise and bountiful creator of our existence, our hopes, and our hereafter. O, the heart must be dead and hopeless, that cannot enjoy the elysium of spring — the diadem of the year, and the crowning beauty of mortal life, and the fore-shadowing of thse immortal joys beyond this life of cares and sorrows.
A hail to beauteous, glowing, blooming, joyous spring.
- "Fain would my muse the flowing treasure sing
- The rising glories of the youthful Spring."