A month has passed, and April showers
Have come and gone upon the scene;
The fields are turning deeper green,
And leaves are growing into bowers.
The butter-cup and violet
Appear among old leaves and grass,
The Iris stands where runnels pass
Into the larger rivulet.
The meadow-lark sings in the fields,
The thrush chants in the willow-hedge,
And mid the marsh and from the sedge
The blackbirds merry music peals.
Thus spring has conquered winter’s gloom
The spring, we hoped would give him strength,
Its life increase his journey’s length,
Even though a little from the tomb.