p. 9 | SIGNS by Agnes E. Blanchard

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Apr 3, 1907

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 33, No. 14.

SIGNS.

By Agnes E. Blanchard

The icy hands of winter slow relax; A tiny rill 'scaped laughing yesternoon, The skies are blue as fields of flowering flax, Mild winds go wandering, and softly croon.

Last night as twilight veiled the sunset's spell, A twig flashed forth a glint of sapphire blue Then faintly liquid music rippling fell, “The spring is here!—'tis true! 'tis true! 'tis true!”

Tho snows be deep, and bitter blasts still sting, We hear the luring call, and restless wait The resurrection glory of the spring, The symbol of the soul's immortal state. —Agnes E. Blanchard.