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by Jane Goodwin Austin

I thought the world was cold in death;
The flowers, the birds, all life was gone,
For January's bitter breath
Had slain the bloom and hushed the song.

And still the earth is cold and white,
And mead and forest yet are bare;
But there's a something in the light
That says the germ of life is there.

Deep down within the frozen brook
I hear a murmur, faint and sweet,
And lo! the ice breaks as I look,
And living waters touch my feet.

Within the forest's leafless shade
I hear a spring-bird's hopeful lay:
O life to frozen death betrayed
Thy death shall end in life to-day.

And in my still heart's frozen cell
The pulses struggle to be free;
While sweet the bird sings, who can tell
But life may bloom again for thee!

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