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.