Long ago, in springs of old,

Happy days would be,

When in meadows green and gold

I might wander free.

High the sunny clouds up-piled,

Blue the April sky,

Birds and flowers and all things wild

Glad and free as I.

Oh how merry was the shout,

When the stile was passed,

“Joy! the cowslips all are out!

Spring is come at last!”

There in sweet and sunny air

Who can tell the bliss?

Costly shops and gardens fair

Have no joys like this.

Playthings, countless, fresh, and sweet,

Scattered wide and free,

All around the children’s feet,

Gifts of God to me.

Whilst I waked, and whilst I slept,

Through the winter wild,

All the tender flowers He kept

For His little child—

Kept them safe beneath the snow,

Safe through wind and rain,

Till in sunshine all aglow

They arise again.

Oh what joys are kept for me

In His secret place,

Till the Spring that soon shall be,

When I see His Face!