Trust

I

Welcome the shadows; where they blackest are

Burns through the bright supernal hour;

From blindness of wide dark looks out the star,

From all death's night the April flower.

II

For beauty and for gladness of the days

Bring but the meed of trust;

The April grass looks up from barren ways,

The daisy from the dust.

III

When of this flurry thou shalt have thy fill,

The thing thou seekest, it will seek thee then:

The heavens repeat themselves in waters still

And in the faces of contented men.