Swept by an angry gale,
Torn by the lightning's stroke,
With arms all weary, bent and frail,
Deep in a coppice down the vale
There stands an aged oak.

But Spring now chains the wind
And calms the torrent's roar;
The track that Winter leaves behind
She razes with soft hands and kind,
And lifts the oak once more.

Hard-by a tuneful stream
Outpours its rippling song,
And lightened gaily by a gleam
Of soft and silvery sunlight beam,
It swirls and trips along.

Here 'neath a spreading tree
From out a moss-clad mound,
A pale bud, longing to be free,
Has pushed its head in springtide glee
Above the silent ground.

There on a leafless limb
A wee bird twitters low,
Her cup of love full to the brim,
She is not now so shy of him
Who would a mating go.

And cheered by warmth and light
The woodlark soars and sings,
As skyward floating, dim to sight,
A speck outpours its song of might,
And welkin sweetly rings.

Now soothing showers descend
To kiss the blushing land,
While crystal tears and sunlight blend
That brilliant bows may earthward bend,
All wrought by subtle hand.

See, as her steps advance,
In earth and air above,
A thousand pulses lightly dance,
And tones grow soft and soft the glance, —
She fills the earth with love!