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Sing, children, sing! And the lily censers swing; Sing that life and joy are waking and that Death no more is king. Sing the happy, happy tumult of the slowly brightening spring; Sing, little children, sing! Sing, children, sing! Winter wild has taken wing. Fill the air with sweet tidings till the frosty echoes ring! Along the eaves the icicles no longer glittering cling, And the crocus in the garden lifts its bright face to the sun, And in the meadows softly the brooks begin to run, And the golden catkins swing In the warm airs of the spring; Sing, little children, sing! Sing, children, sing! The lilies white you bring In the joyous Easter morning for hope are blossoming; And as the earth her shroud of snow from off her breast doth fling, So may we cast our fetters off in God's eternal spring. So may we find release at last from sorrow and from pain, So may we find our childhood's calm, delicious dawn again. Sweet are your eyes, O little ones, that look with smiling grace Without a shade of doubt or fear into the future's face! Sing, sing in happy chorus, with joyful voices tell That death is life, and God is good, and all things shall be well; That bitter days shall cease In warmth and light and peace, That winter yields to spring,— Sing, little children, sing! |