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.
