The February Hush
Snow o'er the darkening moorlands, —
Flakes fill the quiet air;
Drifts in the forest hollows,
And a soft mash everywhere.
The nearest twig on the pine-tree
Looks blue through the whitening sky,
And the clinging beech-leaves rustle
Though never a wind goes by.
But there's red on the wild-rose berries,
And red in the lovely glow
On the cheeks of the child beside me,
That once were pale, like snow.
— Thomas Wentworth Higginson (1823-1911)
I Look to Thee in Every Need
I look to thee in every need,
And never look in vain;
I feel thy strong and tender love,
And all is well again.
The thought of thee is mightier far
Than sin and pain and sorrow are.
Discouraged in the work of life,
Disheartened by its load.
Shamed by its failures or its fears,
I sink beside the road, —
But let me only think of thee,
And then new heart springs up in me.
Thy calmness bends serene above,
My restlessness to still;
Around me flows thy quickening life.
To nerve my faltering will;
Thy presence fills my solitude.
Thy providence turns all to good.
Embosomed deep in thy dear love.
Held in thy law, I stand;
Thy hand in all things I behold.
And all things in thy hand;
Thou leadest me by unsought ways,
And turn'st my mourning into praise.
— Samuel Longfellow (1819-1892)