The spring-tide hour

The spring-tide hour
Brings leaf and flower,
With songs of life and love;
And many a lay
Wears out the day
In many a leafy grove:

Bird, flow'r, and tree
Seem to agree
Their choicest gifts to bring,
But this poor heart
Bears not its part,
In it there is no spring.

Dews fall apace
The dews of grace —
Upon this soul of sin,
And love divine
Delights to shine
Upon the waste within:

Yet year by year
Fruits, flow'rs appear,
And birds their praises sing;
But this poor heart
Bears not its part,
Its winter has no spring.

Lord, let Thy love
Fresh from above
Soft as the south wind blow,
Call forth its bloom,
Wake its perfume,
And bid its spices flow!

And when Thy voice
Makes earth rejoice,
And the hills laugh and sing;
Lord, teach this heart
To bear its part,
And join the praise of spring!