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Lo, A Matron Blooming - Nigel McParr - كتب Google

Your lightsome, dancing feet He gave To run in duty's way ; And clever little hands to help At work as well as play. Be tender, little heart, and true, In hours of joy or gloom ; Like lily, which in shade or sun Gives still its sweet perfume, Be faithful, little hands and feet. Bright eyes and tuneful tongue; God smiles not on the royal robes Of gold and purple spun. And rarer far than lily flowers Which swing on dainty stem God's precious lily-children are 'Heirs to a diadem.

That heaven looked like an eye of blue, Down in its rocky cleft. What could a little flower do. In such a lonely place, But try to reach that eye of blue. And climb to kiss heaven's face.

And there's no life so lone and low, But strength may still be given From narrowest lot on earth to grow The straighter up to heaven. While they slumber April comes, Softly whispers, " Darlings, rise!


Let the bluebirds I have brought Find a welcome in your eyes. Upward springs hepatica. Dons her pretty, fur-lined cloak, She is always on the ground First among the blossom folk. Mayflower, blushing, full of grace, 'Neath the blanket hides her face. Clustering spring beauties haste While the robins sing to them. Delicate anemone Quivers on her swaying stem. Bloodroot, shyest of the flowers. Scatters round its snowy showers. Dogtooth violet's petals curl, Blazing back the light of noon.

Dandelion's crown of gold In the sunshine glistens soon. Innocence with baby smile Follows in a little while. Squirrel-corn with drooping buds Decorates its dainty sheaves. Shadflower seems in pale disguise Blooming into butterflies. By the brook marsh marigold. In the woods the bellwort fair. By the wayside, in the fields, Violets — violets, everywhere.

All the selfsame story tell, April loves her darlings well. Carols echo through the air. Overarching skies are fair. Tenderly strew fragrant flowers, In the shining morning hours.

Lo, A Matron Blooming

Over those who, laid to rest, iVobly gave us of their best. Deeds of heroes theirs have been, And through future years serene you must keep their memory green. The God of the world has spoken. He has washed the bloodstains out.

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With the gladness of love. He has filled the land, and songs are loud once more Where the bray of the trumpet sounded, and foe- men met with a shout, And the war-ships belching their withering flame along the wave-beat shore. Cover the graves with blossoms, with roses regal and red.

White pinks and purple pansies, and the lilacs' pur- ple spray, And bury the bitter memories and strife with the sleeping dead. And strong in brotherhood and love, front the new and glorious day.

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Do you know what it means — This twining of greens, Round the silent cannon's mouth ; This strewing with flowers the grass-grown grave ; This decking with garlands the statues brave; This flaunting of flags, All in tatters and rags ; This marching and singing ; These bells all a-ringing ; These faces grave and these faces gay; This talk of the Blue and this talk of the Gray; In the North and the South, Decoration Day?

Not simply a show-time, boys and girls. For the wreck and the wrong of it, boys and girls. For the terror and loss as well. Our hearts must hold A regret untold As we think of those who fell. But their blood, on whichever side they fought, Remade the nation, and progress brought. We forget the woe ; For we live to know That the fighting and sighing. The falling and dying, Were but steps toward the future — the martyr's way, Adown which the sons of the Blue and the Gray Look, with love and with pride. Decoration Day. Humming in the clover. Under you the tossing leaves.

And the blue sky over. Never still a minute, ' Hovering now above a flower, Now half-buried in it! Jaunty robin-redbreast. Singing loud and cheerily, From the pink-white apple tree In the morning early, Tell me, is your merry song Just for your own sweet pleasure. Poured from such a tiny throat. Without stint or measure? Little yellow buttercup, By the wayside smiling. Lifting up your happy face, With such sweet beguiling, Why are you so gaily clad — Cloth of gold your raiment? Do the sunshine and the dew Look to you for payment?

Roses in the garden beds, Lilies, cool and saintly, Darling blue-eyed violets, Pansies, hooded quaintly, Sweet peas that, like butterflies, Dance the bright skies under. Bloom ye for your own delight, Or for ours, I wonder! Over all the faintest haze Rests, and song-birds pipe their lays In a sweeter strain.

From the meadows come the scent Of the new hay, clover-blent — In the topaz sky Fleecy clouds, like ships at sea, Floating onward lazily, Or at anchor, lie. Nature now is doubly dear To my soul, for doubly near. At July's behest, She has come, and coming brings Surcease from all wear ' things — Blissful sense of rest!

The cottage roof is crossed!

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And on the withered grass below The fallen leaves like bonfires glow! Come, let us hasten to the woods Before the sight is lost ; For few and brief the days when bum The red fires of the frost ; When loud and rude the north wind blows, The ruddy splendor quickly goes ; But, hurrah! The best and loveliest of the year. These freshet-swollen runnels noisy flow.

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The waking plant lifts gracefully her head. Her slender twigs outspread. All ready for the soft south winds to swing Hang ivory bells the drooping spray along, To chime in with the thrushes when they sing. And swell the choral chant of nature's song. What matters it we cannot hear them ring?

To fancy's ear their swaying movements bring A rich melodious rhythm sweet and strong Spring's praises to prolong. Reminding of Andromeda, the peer Of Juno held, divinest of the fair. Who challenged Nerus' daughter without fear Her charms would suffer any by compare; For this presumption she was fastened near The water's edge, left without pitying tear To meet a cruel fate, till rescued there By Perseus bold to dare. Within the woods Whose young and half-transparent leaves scarce cast A shade, gay circles of Anemones Danced on their stalks.

The fairy-formed, flesh-hued anemone, With its fair sisters, called by country people Fair maids o' the spring. The wind-flowers and the wind confer. I have flirted, too, with thee, Tremulous anemone. Half visible are found. The frail anemones Have fallen, fading, from the lap of May. Will soon proclaim their tyrant flown. This is the boisterous time of the year For blossoms as fragile and tender as you To be out on the roadsides in spring raiment new; For snowflakes yet flutter abroad in the air, And the sleet and the tempest are weary to bear ; Have you not come here, pale darling, too soon?

I am fed and refreshed by these cold rushing rains ; The first melting snowdrifts brought life to my veins ; The storm rocked my cradle with lullabies wild; I am here with the wind — because I am his child. Or its dainty finger-tips; Like the pure face of a saint, Like — but words are poor and faint When its beauty I would paint. Long before the blossom yields To our eager clasp, there steals Fragrance which its place reveals ; Else the coarse brown leaves that hold Rosy wealth from searching cold, Scarce its secret would unfold.

That seem cold and dull and bare, If you push the leaves apart. If you search with skilful art, If you seek with all your heart.