Monday

Male Cardinal as the Snow Falls


THRO' THE DEPTHS
By JOHN KENDRICK BANGS

 Underneath the fields are sleeping.
 Overhead the ice is gleaming,
 Underneath the rills are dreaming.
 Overhead the clouds are piling,
 But beyond the skies are smiling.
 Overhead the snow is falling,
 Yet I hear soft voices calling
 To my soul, through winter groping,
 Bidding me to keep on hoping,
 For that through such chill as this is,
 Through the arctical abysses,
 Nature leads her sons and daughters
 On to springtime's sunny waters.

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