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.