THE barren trees make ready for the spring;
The buds they bear, from day to day, unfold
Until they burst their covering; hidden gold
In darkness aye develops, till men bring
Its glory to the light. Thus everything
Forever works, prepares for what shall be;
And shall I only dream, though sweet it be
To dream of joy fulfilled, to dream of Thee?
No! Deed to deed I'll add, as day to day
Is added. I will find new strength each hour
For some new task, each moment sweeps away
Decreasing trouble with increasing power.
Thus shall I grow, like every living thing,
Until thou come, my Joy, my Light, my Spring!
E. C. P.
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