The orchards, clothed in springtime dress,

Are bowers of bloom and loveliness;

A mass of flowers. soft and bright,

A cloud of fragrant pink and white,

A wonderland of blossoms reigns

Where once were only barren plains.

Each mystic flower drips with rare

Perfume that is beyond compare;

And from afar this blossom land

Seems touched with snowy, ermine hand.

This pink and white-robed splendor tells

Of God’s great love. His grace it spells.