noon
Thus are all seasons beautiful ; They all have joy for thee , And gladness for each living soul Comes from them full and free . IT is early spring-time . The winter has passed with reluctant step , and even now the traces of its footsteps are discernible on every side . At noon of these bright days the sun looks down smilingly upon the soil it seeks to bless with its cheerful , cheering rays . The tiny grass-blades peep out , and stretch forth their graceful forms , as if to thank the unknown source from which their enjoyments spring . `` Unknown , '' I said . Is it `` fancy '' that makes my soul withdraw that word , and suggest that it may be that even that blade of grass recognizes the hand that ministers to all its wants ?