We are walking in cold days, dear heart,
with scarce little will to trod.
We are searching for signs, dear heart,
of life, and of love, and of God.
And there are green things here,
and there are lighted windows.
But snow has covered every flower,
and still the darkness grows.
We must do as the bird does, dear heart,
Put down our heads; trust Providence to send clearer weather.
For it is He who provides the sparrow with seed,
and the blue jay with downy feather.
I do not know why we can’t find our place,
why the inhabitants of homes shut us out.
I do not know why we lost the others in snow,
or what my heavenly King is about.
But as we stagger up powdery hills,
enshrined by the heart of the storm,
we share a whispering grace inside,
and this will keep us warm.