Clad is the year in all her best...

Clad is the year in all her best,

The land is sweet and sheen;

Now Spring with Summer at her breast,

Goes down the meadows green.

Here are we met to welcome in

The young abounding year,

To praise what she would have us win

Ere winter draweth near.

For surely all is not in vain,

This gallant show she brings;

But seal of hope and sign of gain,

Beareth this Spring of springs.

No longer now the seasons wear

Dull, without any tale

Of how the chain the toilers bear

Is growing thin and frail.

But hope of plenty and goodwill

Flies forth from land to land,

Nor any now the voice can still

That crieth on the hand.

A little while shall Spring come back

And find the Ancient Home

Yet marred by foolish waste and lack,

And most enthralled by some.

A little while, and then at last

Shall the greetings of the year

Be blent with wonder of the past

And all the griefs that were.

A little while, and they that meet

The living year to praise,

Shall be to them as music sweet

That grief of bye-gone days.

So be we merry to our best,

Now the land is sweet and sheen,

And Spring with Summer at her breast

Goes down the meadows green.