Silver and Roses, Henna and Myrrh

 

 

 

 

 

To My Rain, My Sun, My All

 

Hibernal wrath has covered deep the seed

That plaintive Autumn dropped upon the soil,

And if that vital mote would win its meed,

It must into the Sun’s dominions toil.

With hugest labor upward it must strive,

Emboldened by each steeply conquered inch,

But mindful yet of God, be it to thrive

And of fair pride a fairer place to clinch.

Of God in faith it must expect the boon

Of wholesome rain foreshown by thunderheads

And sunshine twixt the fancies of the Moon

And all whereby his grove the Monarch steads

The seedling I, be thou my compliment,

M y rain, my Sun, my all, from Heaven sent.

 

 

                               Sunday, January 19, 1969

 

 

 

 

Image: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:TruckeeWinter07.jpg