The Seasons
Improvement Era, vol. 7, no. 7, May 1904, pp. 523 to 524
T. E. Curtis
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IN THE WHIRLPOOL. 523
heaven we had the power to reach them, before it is too late. They are some mothers' b:>ys. Some mothers' hearts are breaking!
THE SEASONS.
(For the Improvement Era)
BY T. E. CURTIS, SALT LAKE CITY.
What wonder, out of yon ravine, Old Sol climbs earlier to the scene, And lingers, at the close of day, A little e're he slips away. See! Beauty's self, all blushing, hails Him from our fragrant mountain vales.
How can we frown the hours away, When so much glory fills the day? When the dumb flocks, and streams that run, Make merry in the glad Spring sun; When nature climbs the April hills And starts the music in the rills; And bids the morn to manumise The benedictions of the skies Fair nature which we love to see In all her versatility?
We love her, spite her frown, to find A purpose hidden just behind; We love her in her every mood The winter's chill, the flow'ring wood In every passion born to rule, Our universe is beautiful.
Whether against the sky is writ Her war or peace, what matters it? In every calm or storm, we see The workmanship of Deity That God who tunes the sacred lyre, And tempers every poet's fire,
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524 IMPROVEMENT ERA.
Who gives in every whirlwind's course A blessing to our universe. With what just wonder we behold His works, so full and manifold,
The Springs to blush, the Autumn's brown- The Indian Summer suns go down The adverse elements, the strife This working of the whirlwind life The suns in northern circles rise, And slope down to the southern skies, Ever scattering as they go The rose, the red leaf, and the snow!
The calm, the storm, the mystery, All this wild versatility That crowds into a single year Make full and glorify our sphere; All help to build, each in its course, The great soul of our universe.
'Tis true of man, whose destiny Through seasons of adversity Is laid, there's nothing wrought in vain;
Out of our loss shall grow our gain; The brightest stars are those that light The firmament in darkest night, The sweetest, rarest flowers are born To blush upon the crag and thorn, The stones we climb, our pathway through, Exalt us to a broader view; The paths which whirlwinds seldom beat Are dangerous for our erring feet; The storms that sweep across the land, Teach us to build the towers that stand.
We're students in this mortal state: The lowering cloud, the frown of fate, The woes that come, the joys that go, Are grades in our great school below. We're here to meet and master these: Then— happy thought- -eternities!