Though cloudy skies and north­ern blasts
Retard the gen­tle spring awhile;
The sun will con­quer­or prove at last,
And na­ture wear a ver­nal smile.

The pro­mise which from age to age,
Has brought the chang­ing sea­sons round;
Again shall calm the win­ter’s rage,
Perfume the air, and paint the ground.

The vir­tue of that first com­mand,
I know still does, and will pre­vail;
That while the earth itself shall stand,
The spring and sum­mer shall not fail.

Such chang­es are for us de­creed;
Believers have their win­ters too;
But spring shall cer­tain­ly suc­ceed,
And all their for­mer life re­new.

Winter and spring have each their use,
And each, in turn, his peo­ple know;
One kills the weeds their hearts pro­duce,
The oth­er makes their grac­es grow.

Though like dead trees awhile they seem,
Yet hav­ing life with­in their root,
The wel­come spring’s re­viv­ing beam
Draws forth their blos­soms, leaves, and fruit.

But if the tree in­deed be dead,
It feels no change, though spring re­turn,
Its leaf­less, nak­ed, bar­ren head,
Proclaims it on­ly fit to burn.

Dear Lord, af­ford our souls a spring,
Thou know’st our win­ter has been long;
Shine forth, and warm our hearts to sing,
And Thy rich grace shall be our song.