The dead earth
Lies in Hopelessness,
The cold winter
Wind
Still clawing at the
Bare trees
And moaning its sad
Song,
Has no sound of Life,
And the bondage
of winter
Holds nature
Captive
In its iron fists.

From somewhere in
The farthest
Place, a stirring
Occurs,
The stirring of some
Ancient wind
That knows the
Ways of life
In the heart
Of the frozen
Land,
A warm beat
Sounds
In the ears of Creation,
"Arise,
Come forth
And live."

At the stirring
The trees feel
A rush of energy
And find that
Tiny buds are forming
From their nakedness,
Tiny seedlings
Whisper somewhere beneath
The earth,
What are they saying?
Listen
And hear,
"We are about to burst
From the shrouded
Ground
And break upon
Creation
With blossoms of beauty
For the world
To see.
Renewal is our song,
We are the stuff
of Resurrection."

Resurrection, the
Hope of man
and Beasts,
And the way
of the Creator
In the miracle of
Spring.