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SPRING HATH A TEACHING VOICE.
Who love it with a mother's love ? None, but that mighty Friend above, Who hears a mother's prayer.
He only knows how swift, and deep, The billows that my soul o'ersweep
Of strong undying love— 0 Father! listen to my cry, And be thy Spirit ever nigh,
To guide her steps above!
SPRING HATH A TEACHING VOICE. I heard it in my walk to-day, Through the verdant fields of May, Where the breezes, late so cold, Softly round my forehead stole ; There a mystic voice so clear, Gently broke upon my ear :—
" Thus, when all with gloom is rife, Beauty wakens into life ! Though across thy morning sky, Clouds may flit incessantly, Never yield thy heart to fear, Brighter days will yet appear."
I heard it through the garden trees, Where the small, but busy bees, Ply their restless wing from morn Till the dewy eve's return— |
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