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We must live thru the bleak and dreary Winter
               If we would value Spring.
The woods must be iced and cold and silent
               Before the robins sing.

The flowers must be buried
               In the darkness of cold ground
Before they grow to bud and bloom
               For the sweetest, warmest sunshine
                      Must follow storms and gloom.

So does the human heart
               From the hardest trials
Gain the purest joy of all.
              And from the lips that
Have tasted of sadness
                The sweetest songs will fall.

For as peace comes after suffering
               And love is reward of pain
And after deepest sorrow
                Comes the beauty of the joy---
Thus out of all our losses
                 Comes the harvest to our gain.
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