Winter.

I

See, how rude Winter’s icy hand
Has stripp’d the trees and seal’d the ground!
But Spring shall soon his rage withstand,
And spread new beauties all around.

II

My soul a sharper winter mourns,
Barren and fruitless I remain;
When will the gentle spring return,
And bid my graces grow again?

III

Jesus, my glorious sun, arise!
’Tis thine the frozen heart to move;
Oh! hush these storms and clear my skies.
And let me feel thy vital love!

IV

Dear Lord, regard my feeble cry,
I faint and droop till thou appear;
Wilt thou permit thy plant to die?
Must it be winter all the year.

V

Be still, my soul, and wait his hour
With humble pray’r and patient faith;
Till he reveals his gracious power,
Repose on what his promise saith.

VI

He, by whose all-commanding word
Seasons their changing course maintain,
In every change a pledge affords,
That none shall seek his face in vain.