On Dit
Cold is the wind - the flowers below,
Fearful of winter's hand, lie curled;
But Spring will come again you know,
And glorify the world.
Dark is the night - no stars or moon;
But at its blackest, night is done,
All after hastens to the noon,
The triumph of the sun.
And life is sad, and love is brief.
Be patient ; there will be, they say,
New life, divine beyond belief,
Somehow, somewhere, some day.
