And all in love
these sufferings come--
Like snow upon the winter's breath.
We see the lonely earth
buried in death, and wonder
Why?
Our eyes are dim,
our hearts are cold,
though aching, though disputing
with the Maker of our souls,
Who turns the galaxies, unaided.
O, how jaded is our vision!
For,
beneath the snow,
within the earth's worn soil
the seed of grace has fallen--
These bitter winter winds
cannot have taken
its sweet promise.
The breath of spring will come again --
The icy wind, rebuked,
will flee away,
and day
redressed in verdant garments,
will dance again through stony trees.
The breeze of comfort
dries the stain of sadness.
Where grief was guest
The Son of hope restores . . .
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