Give me the soft winds of Spring,
That sighing through the budding tree
Make music sweet and gently sing,
In Nature's Choir an ode for me.
Give me the silent rains that fall,
Like dawn and evening dew,
The lone and weary Curlew Call
Far in the bogland low.
Give me the sower and the seeds,
Earth fresh furrowed straight and true
And sweetest flowers among the weeds,
In wild profusion see them grow.
Give me the shining harrow team
To cut the rich and darkened loam,
And little tinkling mountain streams,
Joyful dancing as they come.
Give me strength my land to till,
Hands so strong to guide my plough,
That I may strive the barns to fill,
With peace and plenty then and now.
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