John Masefield

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries;
I never hear the west wind but tears read more

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries;
I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes.
For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills,
And April's in the West wind, and daffodils.

Holy Saturday Commemoration of George Augustus Selwyn, first Bishop of New Zealand, 1878 Sing, men and angels, sing, for God read more

Holy Saturday Commemoration of George Augustus Selwyn, first Bishop of New Zealand, 1878 Sing, men and angels, sing, for God our Life and King Has given us light and spring and morning breaking Now may man's soul arise as kinsman to the skies, And God unseals his eyes to an awaking. Sing, creatures, sing; the dust that lives by lure and lust Is kindled by the thrust of life undying; This hope our Master bare has made all fortunes fair, And man can on and dare, his death defying. After the winter snows a wind of healing blows, And thorns put forth a rose, and lilies cheer us; Life's everlasting spring has robbed death of his sting, Henceforth a cry can bring our Master near us.