Poems (Hale)/"Spes mea in Deo"

by Mary Whitwell Hale

SPES MEA IN DEO.

A tender flower upon its stem,
 Bloomed beautiful and bright,—
Jeweled with many a dewy gem,
 In morning's early light.

The sunbeams on its petals smiled,
 And hues of beauty shed.
All fragrant and all undefiled,
 It reared its graceful head.

How dear that sweetly opening flower,
 To each fond gazer's eye;
Expanding with each golden hour,
 Beneath love's sunny sky!

How sweet to mark, from day to day,.
 Its budding beauties bloom;
To watch each rainbow-tinted ray,
 And scent its rich perfume.
***
The floweret faded, withered, fell:
 Its hues no more we trace.
Its ashes,—love's dimmed eye can tell
 Their hallowed resting-place.

Yet hope in God! His guardian hand,
 In deepest darkness nigh,
Shall bid its richer hues expand,
 Beneath heaven's cloudless sky.

Safe from the blighting hand of Time,
 From sin's rude touch secure,
It blooms in that most holy clime,—
 The fadeless and the pure.