The Miracle

By Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

THERE'S not a leaf upon the tree

To show the sap is leaping,

There's not a blade and not an ear

Escaped from winter's keeping —

But there's a something in the air

A something here, a something there,

A restless something everywhere —

A stirring in the sleeping!

A robin's sudden, thrilling note!

And see — the sky is bluer!

The world, so ancient yesterday,

To-day seems strangely newer;

All that was wearisome and stale

Has wrapped itself in rosy veil —

The wraith of winter, grown so pale

That smiling spring peeps through her!