Songs, Merry and Sad

An Easter Hymn

     The Sun has come again and fed
      The lily's lamp with light,
     And raised from dust a rose, rich red,
      And a little star-flower, white;
     He also guards the Pleiades
      And holds his planets true:
     But we—we know not which of these
      The easier task to do.

     But, since from heaven he stoops to breathe
      A flower to balmy air,
     Surely our lives are not beneath
      The kindness of his care;
     And, as he guides the blade that gropes
      Up 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 accord
     To worship where thy lilies light
      The altar of its Lord.