Well Thou Showest, Gracious Spring

Well thou showest, gracious spring,
what fair works thy hand can bring;
Winter makes all spirits weary,
Thine it is to make them merry:
At thy coming, instant he
And his spiteful followers flee,
Forced to quit their rude uncheering
    At thy bright appearing.

Fields and trees will aged grow,
Winter-clad, with bears of snow,
And so rough, so rainy he,
We must to the fireside flee;
There, in dread of our-door weather,
Sculk, like moulting birds, together:
But thou com'st — all nature cheering
    By thy bright appearing.

Winter yon bright sun enshrouds
With his mantle of dark clouds;
But, kind Heav'n be praised, once more
Bursts forth thine enlightening power,
Gladdening, brightening all the scene,
Proving how vain his work hath been, —
Flying at the influence cheering
    Of thy bright appearing.