Winter




Hushed in a dream of rest, the earth is keeping


Beneath the Sabbath of repose


Her buds and blossoms are not dead, but sleeping


Till spring their eyes unclose


The hoary frost of heaven with noiseless fingers


Spread its white raiment over field and fold;


And all is still, save where the robin lingers


To sing amid the cold


Ah, troubled heart, in doubt and sadness sighing


Bearing life’s winter as a heavy cross


God hath bright buds of promise underlying


The snows of pain and loss


What though the great rains of his strength have broken


The summer flower love cherished all in vain


And hope discerns no resurrection token


That such shall rise again!


Be still and wait; the frosts of life shall harden


Thy fallow ground, and make it richer far;


And he who slept and wakened in a garden


Knows where the violets are


Soon shall the long eternal summer; breaking


Across the bloom, His thoughts of love disclose


And satisfied at last, the soul, awaking


Shall blossom as the rose.


 


Sunday at Flame