NOW WINTER PAST, THE WHITE-THORN BOWER.

Now winter past, the white-thorn bower Breaks forth and buds down all the glen; Now spreads the leaf and grows the flower: So grows the life of God, in men.

Oh, my child-God, most gentle King, To me Thy waxing glory show; Wake in my heart as wakes the spring, Grow as the leaf and lily grow.

I was a child, when Thou a child Didst make Thyself again to me; And holy, harmless, undefiled, Play'd at Thy mother Mary's knee.

Thou gav'st Thy pure example so, The copy in my childish breast Was a child's copy. I did know God, made in childhood manifest.

Now I am grown, and Thou art grown The God-man, strong to love, to will, Who was alone, yet not alone, Held in His Father's presence still.

Now do I know Thee for my cure, My peace, the Absolver for me set; Thy goings pass through deeps obscure, But Thou with me art gentle yet.

Long-suffering Lord, to man reveal'd As One that e'en the child doth wait, Thy full salvation is my shield, Thy gentleness hath made me great.