Uncertain measurement of time,

 And when we dream the year has just awoke,

 We wake to find her in her prime.

 We sadden with the dying Autumn leaves,

 Yet falling seeds their promise bring;

 Through long dark Winter days we only wait

 A resurrection in the coming Spring.

 Within each hour the precious minutes lie

 Like seeds awaiting Spring’s first breath,

 God’s harvest-time shall show us if they bear

 The flowers of life or death.

Caris Brooke.

  

Cold is the earth, the flowers below,

Cold

 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;

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