Dark boughs against a golden sky

Dark boughs against a golden sky, And crying of the winter wind: And sweet it is, for hope is high, And sad it is, for we have sinned.

Perfect is nature's every part In sunny rest, or windy strife: But never yet the perfect heart, And never yet the perfect life!

Dark boughs against a golden sky, And crying of the winter wind: And in the cold earth we must lie, What matter then if we have sinned?

For evermore and evermore Shall the great river onward roll: And ever winding streams and poor Shall lose them in the mighty whole.