Winter Thoughts

WINTER THOUGHTS. WRITTEN FOR THE ERA. The winds blow chill through groves of sighing pine] The clouds go driving swiftly overhead; The wild bird's note is hushed; the swaying vine, Its vintage gathered, now hangs limp and dead. The grass is brown and sear; the deep ravine Which erstwhile boomed an angry, boiling flood Scarce boasts the tiniest thread of trickling stream And nature shows her drear and saddened mood. The year has had its bud, its wealth of bloom, Its gracious fruitage, and its swift decay— What matter ! years and cycles onward roll. Today melts silently in yesterday. Today has done its work. Tomorrow comes. Her hand holds golden Opportunity— And underneath the snow the roots will dream Of bud, and bloom, and fruitage yet to be. And so with life. Bright promises of spring Take themselves wings—alas ! and fly away. Though hope and love may follow close behind, Stern duty by our side points out the way. Oh, Angel of the gifts, from memory take The rankling bitterness of vain regret — Of unavailing tears—the biting frosts Of desolation help us to forget; And spread the mantle, pure and white as snow Of Charity to cover life's mistakes, And let the root of Truth and Faith still grow And promises of bloom and fruitage make. So underneath the load of grief and care . The years have brought, we seek the Source of Truth; And know that God holds for us in his hand That best of all the gifts, perennial youth. Sarah E. Pearson.