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1 The winter is over and gone,
The thrush whistles sweet on the spray;
The dove echoes forth her soft moan,
The lark mounts and warbles away.
Shall every creature around
Their voices in concert unite,
And we, his dear children, be found,
In praises to take less delight?
First Line: | The winter is over and gone, The thrush whistles sweet on the spray |
Author: | Thomas Haweis |
Language: | English |
Copyright: | Public Domain |