The Tree

Gnarled, twisted, writhing snake,

Show-shod ‘neath a winter sky,

Putting on the feathery flake,

Only then to lay it bye.


Standing bleak and bare, alone—

Leaves have drifted to the ground;

Cheerful, chirping birds have flown;

The howling wind’s the only sound.


Stalwart, staunch, and strong it stands

‘Neath the vaulted roof of sky.

Fearless of cruel winter’s hands;

It will live again, although it die.


May we too stand straight and sure,

Even ‘neath death’s troubled sky,

Knowing that by faith secure

We shall live, although we die.