Whitsuntide.

OF old our ancestors on England’s shores,
In the sweet rural districts and in towns,
Enjoyed, methinks, more cheerfulness of heart
In their religion, and yet found no loss,
But rather gain in the most vital part,
Linking the highest duties of the church
With harmless mirth and sweet poetic grace.
Christmas and Easter then were days of joy;
The huge yule-clog blazed in ancestral halls,
And merry dances led the joyful hours,
While healthful games at Easter cheered the year.
And so at each return of Whitsuntide,
While not forgetful of the sacred rites
Due to the church as on the other days,
Bedecked with flowers borne on the lap of May,
They bade a welcome to the vernal year,
And found a sweetness in its sacred rites.