Under the late and drifted snow the swollen bulbs are breaking,
Fine roots are thrusting, deep and firm and true;
Hues of the rainbow in the dark are making.
Green spears are marshaled for the great break-through.
Soft shall blow the breezes, gently fall the rain.
Brightly glow the kindly sun on hill and wood and vale;
Loveliness upsurges in tree, and flower, and grain—
Seedtime and summer shall not cease, the harvest shall not fail.
Under the frozen wastes of grief the seeds of joy are bursting,
Under the icy drifts of pain are forming flowers of peace;
Behind the shriveled husks of sin the heart for God is thirsting.
Deep within the prison swells the song that brings release.
Softly fall God's mercies, gently hills His love.
Strong is creation's primal Word to summon and prevail;
Warmly His vivifying light enkindles from above.
Seedtime and summer shall not cease, the harvest shall not tail.
The cycles of God's seasons spurn the lagging wheels of time,
Now are the white fields waiting, here is your festal place:
Open your heart and gather in the affluence sublime.
Reach out with joy and reap the instant rapture of His grace.
Round us are His blessings, with us is His might,
Warm is the Love omnipotent no winter can assail;
Before the call, the answer; the dawn forestalls the night—
Seedtime and summer do not cease, the harvest does not fail.
