I reached the old home under the hill, delighted to see once more the
eyes which looked love to eyes that spoke again, to hear the familiar
spring chorus from the river, the first robins and bluebirds rejoicing
over the resurrection of nature, to explore each sheltered nook for
the early cowslips, violets, pussy-willows, dandelions, and crocuses;
to gossip with my old friends the chipmunks, the muskrats, and the
woodchucks; to revisit each mossy hollow and sequestered retreat in my
much loved pine woods; to whittle again the willow whistles, to caress
the opening buds and tiny green growing blades of grass; to float once
more in my little boat under the embracing arms of my chums, the oaks,
birches, and hemlocks I loved so well; to watch the first flight of
Psyche, the butterfly, so emblematic of the soaring of the immortal
soul from the body dead. The wood duck seemed to smile upon me as of
old as she sailed gracefully into the little coves in my river,
the woodpeckers beat their drums in my honor, and the heron, the
"Shu-Shugah"--screamed welcome oh, my lover.
The rapture of the returning life to nature thrilled my inmost being.
Blue waves are tossing, white wings are crossing, the earth springs
forth in the beauty of green, and the soul of the beautiful chanted to
all, the sweet refrain:
Come to me, come to me, oh my God, oh, come to me everywhere,
Let the earth mean Thee, and the mountain sod, the ocean and the air,
For Thou art so far that I sometimes fear,
As on every side I stare
Searching within, and looking without, if Thou art anywhere.
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