The Spring

                                 I.
On the pure crystal Spring,
And the bright water, sing
     Ever and aye:
As it comes bubbling up
Round the green grassy top
Of its small “gravel cup,”
     Hasting away.

                                 II.
Earth wears a deeper green
Where the glad Spring is seen,
     And the skies see,
Under and far above,
As in the fondness of
Pure and maternal love,
     Circling the stream.

                                 III.
There the soft breezes come,
Making the leaflets hum
     Low as they pass;
And their light pinions play,
All through the summer’s day—
Moving the waters gay
     And the long grass.

                                 IV.
Where the still runnel flows,
There the white lily blows,
     Modest and pure.
Seen through the foliage dim,
On the tall maple limb,
Pours the glad bird a hymn
     To her fond wooer.

                                 V.
Down on the grassy brink
Of the clear rill, to drink,
     Stoops the tired mower—
Blessing the God who gave
Man the translucent wave,
From its deep-hidden cave,
     Ever to pour.

                                 VI.
See the bright waters curl,
As the gay reaper’s girl
    Kneels at their side,
And the pure crystal sips
Bathing her rosy lips—
While the pressed herbage dips
     In the cool tide.

                                 VII.
Down in the wave below,
Health’s check, with ruddy glow,
     Blooms like a girl’s—
Pressed to the waters down,
See the lips meet her own,
While on the breezes blown,
    Blend their soft curls.

                                 VIII.
Tell not of “rosy wine”
Crowning with “joys divine”
     Life nad its cares;
Blood-shot and sunken eyes,
Tears, and half-uttered sighs,
Tell, of its votaries,
     Sorrow is theirs

                                 IX.
Chidlren of bitter wo,
Come to the waters!—ho!
     Come, mourners, come!
Come ye where pleasures swim
Round the Spring’s grassy brim—
Fly from the demon grim,
     Couched in the RUM!

                                 X.
Joy, with her sunny locks,
Leaps on the mossy rocks,
     Where the Spring flows;
Nature smiles sweetly there—
Flowers scent the summer air—
And the dull fiend of care
     Flies with his woes.