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