IN APRIL. 
BY EBEN E. REXFORD. 
April is here ! 
Listen, a robin is caroling near, 
Low and sweet is the song he Bings, 
As he sits in the sunshine with folded wings, 
And looks from the earth that is growing green 
To the warm blue skies that downward lean, 
As a mother does, to kiss the child 
That has looked up in her face and smiled. 
Earth has been sleeping, and now it wakes, 
And the kind sky-mother bends and takes 
The laughing thing in her warm embrace, 
And scatters her kisses over its face; 
And every kiss will grow into a flower, 
To brighten with beauty a coming hour. 
April is here ! 
Blithest season of all the year. 
The little brook laughs as it leaps away; 
The lambs are out on the hills at play; 
The warm south-wind sings, the whole day long, 
The merriest kind of a wordless song. 
Gladness is born of the April weather, 
And the heart is as light as a wind-tossed feather. 
Who could be sad on a day like this? 
The care that vexed us no longer is. 
If we sit down at the great tree’s feet 
We feel the pulses of Nature beat: 
There’s an upward impulse in everything; 
Look up and be glad is the law of spring. 
And as flowers grow under last year’s leaves, 
New hopes arise in the heart that grieves 
Over the grave of a gladness dead; 
And the soul that sorrowed is comforted. 
April is here! 
I know that a blossom is somewhere near, 
For the south-wind tosses in my room 
A hint of summer - , a vague perfume 
It has stolen somewhere, I cannot tell 
Whether from pausy or pimpernel; 
But it sets me dreaming of birds and bees, 
And odorous blossoms of apple trees; 
Of roses red by the garden wall, 
And milk-white lilies, stately and tall; 
Of clover fallen in fragrant rows, 
As the mower through the meadow goes; 
Of song and sunshine, aud all sweet things 
That summer brings. 
' 
