Classic Poem

When the earth was flushed and the trees were young
And the bluebird called from an April sky,
Beyond where the moon's slim cradle hung
Life's long, long vistas before us hung
Half veiled in tears, though we knew not why;
For hearts were yearning, but on the tongue
The slow words trembled, and lips were shy.

When the earth was green and the trees were strong
And the river sang to the warm, white sun,
The hours were blithe and the days were long,
For life was working, and work was song—
No wailing minor of things undone
And no black discord of things gone wrong;
Life's sands were many, and slow to run.

When the earth is bleak and the trees are pale
And the east wind cries through the falling rain,
Draw close, dear heart, from the rising gale;
We'll measure bravely our meagre tale
Of wide, poor stubble and scanty grain—
But, dear, we have tried; if the harvest fail
The Lord of the Harvest will count our pain.

When the trees are gray and the earth is white
And the north wind sings in the chimney stone,
Then hand in hand we will wait the night—
With quiet hearts, we will say goodnight;
Dear heart, was not all the year our own?
There is no darkness love cannot light—
We'll face, together, the great Unknown!