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