Springtime in the Country. 



"Oh! breath of the springtime, your soft air I bless; 

 You wake the sweet flowers with your tender caress. 

 And May, with your sunshine, most gladly I greet, . 

 You tempt into blossom my brier bush sweet." 



Spring in the country ! What a glorious season it is ! Not 

 to feel the sweet influences of this creative season in the coun- 

 try is to be shut within the walls of a living prison. 



The farm is so near to nature, so near to God, especially 

 on a balmy spring morning, when all is so still, sweet and 

 peaceful, that we who were reared in a country home, and blest 

 by it, can never forget those happy spring days on the old farm. 



He who cannot go out to his work whistling on a bright, 

 dewy April morning is deaf to the richest of God's seasons and 

 blessings. Why, everything feels it. The young calves and 

 colts in the barnyard, the lambs in the pasture, the birds in 

 the hedgerow and the swallows circling and sailing overhead. 

 Even the earth beneath your feet, for 



"Every clod feels a stir of might, 



An instinct within it that reaches and towers; 

 And grasping blindly above it for light, 

 Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers." 



From the time when the first little blade thrusts its green 

 head above the sod, until June comes with her garlands of 

 roses, spring is the regal queen that rules the land. 



To be sure, the flowers of spring are not so gay colored 

 and gorgeous as those of summer and early autumn. They are 

 more subdued in color and delicate of odor, but there is a fresh- 

 ness about them that wins the heart of every beholder. 



Writing of spring flowers, brings back the days when I 

 used to follow the drag across the old "wood lot." This field 

 was inclosed with a rail fence. Here, in the protected corners 

 of the old zigzag fence, I used to find the first blossoms of 

 spring and the first wild strawberries of early summer. How 

 eagerly I used to watch for the coming of the modest little 



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