THE DARK. 


 

WHERE  do the little chickens run 

When they are made afraid? 

Out of the light, out of the sun, 

Into the dark—the shade. 


Under the mother's downy wing 

They have no fear of anything. 

Where do the little violets creep 

When comes the time of snow? 


Into the dark to rest and sleep 

And wait for spring; they go 

Under the ground where storms can't reach, 

And God takes tenderest care of each. 


Are you afraid, dear girl or boy, 

Afraid of the dark of death? 

Jesus will raise you, full of joy, 

To the world of light, he saith: 

And where the little violets sleep, 

Your body safe the Lord will keep.