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From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 129-130.


[129]

AN EASTER RHYME

It is a very pleasant thing,
The story that Christ rose in spring,
For men had seen, as still we see,
The life arise in bush and tree,
Seen silent herb and vocal nest
Alike with new creation blest.
There is no death; beneath the snow,
The tides of life forever flow,
A little checked, a little spent,
But waiting still in deep content,
Till God shall speak once more to earth
His magic word of yearly birth.
Though blown from sin or sorrow’s pole,
Chill winter storms sweep o’er the soul,
Though buried deep and half congealed,
Its warmth of life is all concealed,
And only outward death revealed,
Yet close at hand a glory waits;
God’s spring is ever at the gates.
Let me awake, and share the power
Which moves alike in man and flower.
Who triumphs over loss and pain
[130] To labor for another’s gain,
Within his heart is risen high
The soul of Him who cannot die.






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