48 MARCH. 



The little brooks run on in light, 



As if they had a chase of mirth ; 

 The skies are blue, the air is warm, 

 Our very hearts have caught the charm 

 That sheds a beauty over earth. 



The aged man is in the field ; 



The maiden 'mong her garden flowers ; 

 The sons of sorrow and distress 

 Are wandering in forgetfulness, 



Of wants that fret and care that lowers. 



She comes with more than present good — 



With joys to store for future years. 

 From which in striving crowds apart, 

 The bowed in spirit, bruised in heart, 

 May glean up hope with grateful tears. 



Up — let us to *'ie fields away, 



And breathe the fresh and balmy air : 

 The bird is builuiog in the tree, 

 The flower Ins opened to the bee, 



And health, and love, and peace are there ! 



