To the Springtime Morn
The snow is melting now,
upon the land beyond,
and winters hardness,
breaks to springtime flower,
for time has breached, the pangs,
of dismal morn,
and soon the land,
will echo songs of love.
O' to the warmth and scent of flower,
when love is the master of the hour,
when the fields are green in the bright
of day,
when the streams oncemore flow on
their way,
O' to the springtime morn.
O' to the springtime morn,
when the days are long,
and life is merry,
and the trees are full,
with blossom cherry,
O' to the springtime morn.
O' to they who are very busy,
amongst the scented flower,
for they are the ones,
whom compared with love,
make sweet, the springtime hour.
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