Before the face of nature by a sign
Proclaimed its freedom from old winter’s power,
A prophecy unable to define
Possessed my heart and wrought there hour by hour
Convictions all analysis defy,
That spite the winter’s work so cold and numb
In wreck and ruin nothing could deny,
My heart knew all the time that spring had come.

Then later on the proof was plainly seen,
As o’er the face of nature there was spun
A filmy mistlike veil of tender green.
The distant mountains seemed a curtain hung
In folds of lilac ‘gainst a pearly screen
Wherein were wrought in stencil naked trees
In tracings strange and wondrous to be seen.
The gentle breath of spring was in the breeze.

The hillside donned a patchwork garment quaint,
Enlivened by its fields of winter wheat.
Hereto it wore the garment of a saint
Snow-white and pure, a type of sainthood meet.
The sun’s most gentle rays wrought changes there.
The snow became a brook set free to run
And make sweet music in the chilly air.
‘Twas joy to know its ministry begun.

As strange as was the sense that spring had come
Before the many proofs were manifest,
Was faith which from my inner being sprung
(In spite the old creation’s signs and test),
Responsive to the Holy Spirit’s touch,
And held in every certitude divine,
When every feeling contradicted such,
The fact that I was Christ’s and He was mine.

The miracle of spring was wrought in me.
For in my heart so destitute of light,
A new creation came which set me free
From laws of sin and death and nature’s night.
A hope unknown before now dawned so bright
In answer to the wooing of the sun.
A miracle was wrought in open sight,
My heart could naught but sing—for spring had come!