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For' souls Crave pardon ere they sing of praise;
And heaven, that never yet was sought in vain,
Looks down upon their nakedness and pain;
And in celestial raptures of delight
Enfolds them in a wondrous robe of white,
Which covers all the ashes of their grief,
And warms and nourishes faith’s inward leaf,
Which in the glad new life to be shall spread,
Unmindful of past pleasures lost or dead;
But glorying, trusting in the heaven above,
Counts life, death, joy or sorrow, all as love.
***
Our own beloved forest never dies,
But, ’neath the smile of tender southern skies,
Our winter is but waiting for the spring;
And, all expectant of the blossoming,
The whispering leaves still hang upon the spray,
And tell each other of a coming day.
The sap of strength is in the dancing bough
That crowns with gloomy green the mountain’s brow.
In silent joy the feathery wattles hold
Spring’s promise of her lavish gifts of gold.
