Is Not Thy Home Among The Flowers?

When April Winds Grew Soft, The Maple Burst Into A Flush Of Scarlet Flowers. The Tulip Tree, High Up, Opened In Airs Of June Her Multitude Of Golden Chalices To Humming-birds And Silken-wing'd Insects Of The Sky.

There Is A Day Of Sunny Rest For Every Dark And Troubled Night; And Grief May Hide An Evening Guest, But Joy Shall Come With Early Light.

I Grieve For Life's Bright Promise, Just Shown And Then Withdrawn.

Come When The Rains Have Glazed The Snow And Clothed The Trees With Ice, While The Slant Sun Of February Pours Into The Bowers A Flood Of Light. Approach! The Incrusted Surface Shall Upbear Thy Steps And The Broad Arching Portals Of The Grove Welcome Thy Entering.

Tender Pauses Speak The Overflow Of Gladness, When Words Are All Too Weak.