Returning Thanks

I THANK Thee, Lord, I may enjoy
Thy holy sacrament of Spring !
For dancing heart when leaflets toy.
Or when birds warble, and wave wing.
For tears, for April tears of joy !
The cuckoo thrills me as of yore,
The nightingale is more than wine ;
Bluebells in the wild woodland pour
Hues purpler, but not more Divine
Than blithe, fresh hues of Heaven on high ;
I thank thee. Lord, before I die !
Sidelong glance, brown rabbit furry.
Ere to foot-patted hole you hurry.
Under large leaf, rumpled, shady.
By a folded lord or lady !
Anemone, and pale primrose
Already gone ! in place of those,
Blue speedwell, purple violet,
With the dews of morning wet.
These innocent pleasures never cloy ;
I thank Thee, Lord, I may enjoy !
Pure, fresh scents pervade the wood,
A dim, life-teeming solitude ;
Young juices mount, and gums exude !
Our children in dear days long fled
Pulled daisy, and sleek golden cup ;
One left us, and men deem him dead ;
And two have well fulfilled our hope ;
And all by Thee, my Lord, are led !
I lie upon the woodland green.
With sorrel, little strawberry flower ;
Through pink wild apple-bloom sun-sheen
Plays hide-and-seek, in the lush bower
Of murmurous leaves, and hour by hour
Makes shine and shade for the soft flower.
While birds unbosom love's young glee,
Dallying round the nested tree ;
For I, and all, are dear to Thee !
How long since I was a blithe boy !
Much went with youth's removing wing ;
But, Lord, I thank Thee I enjoy
As then, Thy sacrament of Spring !