1 SEE, how rude winter's icy hand
Has stripp'd the trees and seal'd the ground!
But spring shall soon his rage withstand,
And spread new beauties all around.
2 My soul a sharper winter mourns,
Barren and fruitless I remain;
When will the gentle spring return,
And bid my graces grow again?
3 Jesus, my glorious Sun, arise!
'Tis thine the frozen heart to move; Oh! hush these storms, and clear my skies, And let me feel thy vital love!
4 Dear Lord, regard my feeble cry,
I faint and droop till thou appear;
Wilt thou permit thy plant to die?
Must it be winter all the year?
5 Be still, my soul, and wait this hour,
With humble pray'r, and patient faith;
Till he reveals his gracious pow'r,
Repose on what his promise saith.
6 He, by whose all-commanding word† Seasons their changing course maintain,
In ev'ry change a pledge affords,
That none shall seek his face in vain.
XXXI. Waiting for Spring.
1 THOUGH cloudy skies, and northern blasts,
Retard the gentle spring a while;
The sun will conqu'ror prove at last,
And nature wear a vernal smile.
2 The promise which, from age to age,
Has brought the changing seasons round,
Again shall calm the winter's rage,
Perfume the air, and paint the ground.
3 The virtue of that first command,
I know still does and will prevail,
That while the earth itself shall stand,
The spring and summer shall not fail.
4 Such changes are for us decreed;
Believers have their winters too;
But spring shall certainly succeed,
And all their former life renew.
5 Winter and spring have each their use,
And each, in turn, his people know;
One kills the weeds their hearts produce,
The other makes their graces grow.
6 Though like dead trees a while they seem,
Yet having life within their root,
The welcome spring's reviving beam
Draws forth their blossoms, leaves, and fruit.
7 But if the tree indeed be dead,
It feels no change, though spring return;
Its leafless, naked, barren head,
Proclaims it only fit to burn.
8 Dear Lord, afford our souls a spring,
Thou know'st our winter has been long; Shine forth and warm our hearts to sing, And thy rich grace shall be our song.
1 BLEAK winter is subdu'd at length,
And forc'd to yield the day;
The sun has wasted all his strength,
And driven him away.
2 And now long wish'd-for spring is come, How alter'd is the scene!
The trees and shrubs are dress'd in bloom,
The earth array'd in green.
3 Where'er we tread, beneath our feet
The clust'ring flowers spring;
The artless birds, in concert sweet,
Invite our hearts to sing.
4 But, ah! in vain I strive to join,
Oppress'd with sin and doubt;
I feel 'tis winter still within,
Though all is spring without.
5 Oh! would my Saviour from on high
Break through these clouds and shine!
No creature then more blest than I,
No song more loud than mine.
6 Till then-no softly-warbling thrush,
Nor cowslip's sweet perfume,
Nor beauties of each painted bush,
Can dissipate my gloom.
7 To Adam, soon as he transgress'd,
Thus Eden bloom'd in vain:
Not Paradise could give him rest,
Or sooth his heart-felt pain.
8 Yet here an emblem I perceive
Of what the Lord can do ;
Dear Saviour, help me to believe,
That I may flourish too.
9 Thy word can soon my hopes revive, Can overcome my foes,
And make my languid graces thrive,
And blossom like the rose.
1 PLEASING spring again is here!
Trees and fields in bloom appear!
Hark! the birds, with artless lays,
Warble their Creator's praise!
Where, in winter, all was snow,
Now the flow'rs in clusters grow;
And the corn, in green array,
Promises a harvest day.
2 What a change has taken place!
Emblem of the spring of grace;
How the soul, in winter mourns,
Till the Lord, the Sun, returns ;
Till the Spirit's gentle rain
Bids the heart revive again;
Then the stone is turn'd to flesh,
And each grace springs forth afresh.
3 Lord, afford a spring to me! Let me feel like what I see! Ah! my winter has been long,
Chill'd my hopes, and stopp'd my song! Winter threat'ned to destroy
Faith, and love, and ev'ry joy;
If thy life was in the root,
Still I could not yield thee fruit.
4 Speak, and by thy gracious voice
Make my drooping soul rejoice;
O beloved Saviour, haste,
Tell me, all the storms are past:
On thy garden deign to smile,
Raise the plants, enrich the soil
Soon thy presence will restore
Life to what seem'd dead before.
5 Lord, I long to be at home,
Where these changes never come!
Where the saints no winter fear,
Where 'tis spring throughout the year:
How unlike this state below!
There the flow'rs unwith'ring blow:
There no chilling blasts annoy;
All is love, and bloom, and joy.
1 THOUGH the morn may be serene, Not a threat'ning cloud be seen, Who can undertake to say
'Twill be pleasant all the day?
Book iii. Hymn 68.
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