The April sun comes smiling after showers;
The clouds fly, and the valley fills with flowers;
The birds sing, and the one-time timid buds
Are clapping baby hands in all the woods.
Gold on the gorse, and silver on the brook,
And brown bees buzzing in each sunny nook:
Who says we’re poor, with so much wealth around?
If heav’n’s like this, it is a happy ground.
I walk ‘mong fields where I have laboured long
To plant the little seeds fit mould among.
And now I see the corn-spears pierce the clod,
While my heart fills with gratitude to God.
Men may be cruel, and the times be bad –
Yet much have I for which my heart is glad:
God’s helping Hand, the Beauty of His Face –
The springing crops, the valley’s April grace.
‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.