Home-Songs for Home-Birds

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1865 edition. Excerpt: ... Around the soft green swelling mound We scooped the earth away, And buried deep the crocus bulbs Against a coming day. These roots are dry and brown and sere; Why plant them here, he said, To leave them all the winter long So desolate and dead? Dear child, within each sere, dead form There sleeps a living flower, And angel-like it shall arise In spring's returning hour. Ah, deeper down, cold, dark, and chill, We buried our heart's flower; But angel-like shall he arise, In spring's immortal hour. In blue and yellow from its grave Springs up the crocus fair, And God shall raise those bright blue eyes, Those sunny waves of hair. Not for a fading summer's morn, Not for a fleeting hour, But for an endless age of bliss, Shall rise our heart's dear flower. FLOWERS OF THE SOUL. In the first bright gush of spring, When the sun began to glow, When the air was fresh and balmy, And the voice of the winds was low; In the midst of the tangled wood, Whence summer's bloom had fled, Whence summer's birds had departed, And the voice of song was dead; Up from the cold, damp ground, Where the fallen leaves were heaped, And winter's snows had slumbered, A tiny floweret peeped; Up through the withered leaves, Up from the damp, cold ground, Smiling with eyes bright and gentle, Shedding sweet perfume around. My heart was filled with gladness, By the floweret blooming there, In part by its own gentle beauty, Yet more by the message it bore: Good-bye to old winter's reign, Hail to the smiling spring, Hail to its music and flowers, Hail to the joys they bring! Thus, in a cold, dark heart, In a dead and withering soul, Forgetful of God and heaven, Long sunk beneath sin's control: There springs up a holy thought (Like a flower) of God and love, When the life-giving...