Hail To Thee, Spirit Of Hope! Whom Men Call Spring; Youngest And Fairest Of The Four, Who Guide Our Mortal Year Along Time'S Rapid Tide. Spirit Of Life! The Old Decrepid Earth Has Heard Thy Voice, And At A Wondrous Birth, Forth Springing From Her Dark, Mysterious Womb, A Thousand Germs Of Light And Beauty Come. Thy Breath Is On The Waters, And They Leap From Their Bright Winter-Woven Fetters Free; Along The Shore Their Sparkling Billows Sweep, And Greet Thee With A Gush Of Melody. The Air Is Full Of Music, Wild And Sweet, Made By The Joyous Waving Of The Trees, Wherein A Thousand Winged Minstrels Meet, And By The Work-Song Of The Early Bees, In The White Blossoms Fondly Murmuring, And Founts, That In The Blessed Sunshine Sing; Hail To Thee! Maiden, With The Bright Blue Eyes! And Showery Robe, All Steeped In Starry Dew; Hail To Thee! As Thou Ridest Through The Skies, Upon Thy Rainbow Car Of Various Hue.