 | Griselda |  |
249
WAIT YET.
Among the flowers stood at spring,
A lowly plant and bare;
The snowdrop by so base a thing
Was proud—the briar fair:
But the golden days adorned it
With blossoms of the best;
And though fickle April scorned it,
May bore it in her breast.
A lowly plant and bare;
The snowdrop by so base a thing
Was proud—the briar fair:
But the golden days adorned it
With blossoms of the best;
And though fickle April scorned it,
May bore it in her breast.
Ah, soul! with hope and watching worn,
Mourn not thy leafless spring!
The joyless days of life were born
The joyful ones to bring;
Patience makes mirth as buds make bloom,
Past loss is present treasure,
To-day's remembered grief and gloom
Will be to-morrow's pleasure.
Mourn not thy leafless spring!
The joyless days of life were born
The joyful ones to bring;
Patience makes mirth as buds make bloom,
Past loss is present treasure,
To-day's remembered grief and gloom
Will be to-morrow's pleasure.
| Griselda | |