Winter

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.

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

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!

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.

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.

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.