A Balm For Weary Minds

What a balm for the mind the joyous spring,
What fragrant nectar its breezes bring;
How the babbling brook and the birds we hear,
Lull the heart from worry, the soul from fear;
What magic power its measures hold
To keep the soul from growing old!
What joy up on the turf to lie
And watch the fleeting butterfly,
To hear the bee as it buzzes by;
The humming bees as they go, and come,
Sipping honey from the bloom.
Wake, fainting heart, around thee look,
Stroll through the woods, sit by the brook,
And hear it clatter, laugh and sing,
A flood of hope to you 'twill bring.
Look, see the orchard a mass of snow,
Sending the fragrance by the winds that blow;
Drink deep of its joys, on its fragrance fill,
That thy soul may stand cold winter's chill.
Look at the daisies, see them bend,
Giving their fragrance to each wind;
The lilies in their lovely array
Think of the words the sowers say:
Toil not, spin not, yet how they grow,
So fragrant and spotless and whiter than snow.
List to the thrush up in the trees,
The song of the cuckoo, the hum of the bees;
The tame and wild flowers, drink deep their sweet scent,
Surely thy sad heart will then be content.
On springtime's fair bosom rest thy aching head,
Who cannot feel springtime surely is dead.