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Out of the Ground. Rhymes and Jingles by Mary Mapes Dodge for children

A glow in the sunshine,
A pulse in the air,
A something of gladness—
We cannot tell where;
Blue, born of heaven,
Filling the sky;
A laugh in the brooklet
Hastening by;
A stirring of insects
Waking the wood;
Prayer breathed in secret:
"God, thou art good!"
Little birds humming;
Joy all around—
The flowers must be coming
Out of the ground!

They're coming! They're coming!
Daffodils sweet—
Hear the grass whisper
Under our feet!
Telling of daisies,
Telling of clover,
Telling of beauty
All the world over!
Looking up brightly
Where the sun shines,
Sending a message
Up to the vines:
"Wake from your slumbers,
Summon your powers,
Put forth your tendrils:
They're coming—the flowers!"

They're coming! They're coming!
'Tis writ on the air,
In incense and harmony
Breathed everywhere!
Winds murmur no longer
Their woe to the pines—
But spiders are spinning
Their gossamer lines.
Blue-birds are darting
The branches among,
Wild with a pleasure
Only half sung.
Herd-bells are tinkling—
Moonie, the cow,
Crops the young grasslets
Emerald now.
High on the roof-top
Sparrows look forth,
Watching for travellers
Flying to north—
Twittering sparrows!
Blithesome and true,
You never left us
All winter through.
Brave little sparrows!
No tempest lowers—
Blest is your waiting:
They're coming—the flowers!

They're coming! They're coming!
The beautiful throng,
To sooth us and cheer us
The whole summer long.
By brook and in meadow,
Woodland and glade,
Through moonlight and starlight,
Sunshine and shade,
They're creeping, they're springing,
They're climbing the hill,
They're twining and clinging—
Though under ground still.
The blue-birds have called them—
(Praise God for it all!)
They have heard, and already
They answer the call!

O Snow-white and Purple,
Pink, Yellow, and Blue!
Lie close to their hearts
Till the day they come through.
O spirit of Beauty!
Spirit of Grace!
Still bide ye above them
Watching the place.
Fragrance and Loveliness!
Still hover near,
Soon shall your hosts
In their glory appear.
Surely the Spring-time
Is crowning its hours—
They're coming! They're coming!
The beautiful flowers!

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