All things that live and grow are full of hope.

The slender primrose on the woodland slope,

Tangled and overgrown,

Unfolds its crumpled florets one by one

To seek the sun;

The snow-bound crocus thrusts an amber cone

Through frozen earth; even the fallen elm

Fringes with tender green its ancient bole.

But Death extracts a toll

From Beauty, Courage, Innocent Desire,

And tempests overwhelm

The fruit-tree blossom, trampled in the mire,

Sweet harbinger of unfulfilled delight.

When terror keeps the watches of the night

And childhood’s faith is gone,

And passion spent,

We stagger to our feet and stumble on

In pain, in sorrow and bewilderment

Impelled to hope by man’s instinctive soul.