The Forerunner

A wind out of heaven o’er holt and lea Blows the dead ashes of life to a blaze, And little green flames on hedge and tree Flicker and shine through the lengthening days. Summer is coming! The sound of her name Gives sight to the blind and a voice to the dumb; Spring is setting the green little buds aflame To light the way she will come.

And down through the city, by shop and mart, An Angel passes with hushed footfall-- His coming gladdens the wistful heart Of a caged thrush hung on an outer wall, And it sings till the spell of its rapturous song Brings the field to its bars, and below in the street Hearing, and mocked with remembrance, the throng Feel the grass under their feet.

To a touch of the sunlight Death unlocks His doors, and with laughter Life returns; In high-walled garden, and window-box, In square and byway glimmers and burns Blossom and leaf, as a happier thought Lights eyes that were sad, for each dull city place Thrilled as the Angel went past it, and caught The look that flashed from his face.