Blood taints the face of men’s desires.
Dark fires of hate devour
All that is nigh.
Yet, now, I hear a robin’s
Clear notes ringing from the hill,
Forsythia rivals sunshine
In the bower;
And, though, it seemed all hope
Was gone, my heart
Is singing in this hour.
Oh, this is magic of the spring….
Its constant, healing power!
When God gives word to earth and sky,
And clod, and tree, and flower;
And dogwood by the waking brook,
And violets and redbud look
Toward Him, grateful for the sign;
Despite the world’s complexities,
All of earth’s good is mine!
CHRISTIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION