I Hear Thy Voice, O Spring!

I hear thy voice, O Spring!
Its flute-like tones are floating through the air,
Winning my soul with their wild ravishing,
From earth's heart-wearying care.

Divinely sweet thy song —
But yet, methinks, as near the groves I pass,
Low sighs on viewless wings are borne along,
Tears gem the springing grass.

For where are they, the young,
The loved, the beautiful, who, when thy voice,
A year agone, along these valleys rung,
Did hear thee and rejoice!

Thou seek'st for them in vain —
No more they 'll greet thee in thy joyous round;
Calmly they sleep beneath the murmuring main,
Or moulder in the ground.

Yet peace, my heart — be still!
Look upward to yon azure sky and know,
To heavenlier music now their bosoms thrill,
Where balmier breezes blow.

For them hath bloom'd a spring,
Whose flowers perennial deck a holier sod,
Whose music is the song that seraphs sing,
Whose light, the smile of God!