An Easter Hymn
The Sun has come again and fedThe lily’s lamp with light,And raised from dust a rose, rich red,And a little star-flower, white;He also guards the PleiadesAnd holds his planets true:But we—we know not which of theseThe easier task to do.
But, since from heaven he stoops to breatheA flower to balmy air,Surely our lives are not beneathThe kindness of his care;And, as he guides the blade that gropesUp from the barren sod,So, from the ashes of our hopes,Will beauty grow toward God.
Whate’er thy name, O Soul of Life,—We know but that thou art,—Thou seest, through all our waste of strife,One groping human heart,Weary of words and broken sight,But moved with deep accordTo worship where thy lilies lightThe altar of its Lord.