The kite flies high
In the winter sky—
Bright aeronaut,
Straining to reach
Heavenly heights.
Tethered to earth,
Soon to descend,
Release would mean
An early fall
Or futile drift.
Our aerial barque
Of faith and hope—
So frail and small—
Striving to rise,
Needs Love's lifeline
While wild storms rage,
Until calm reigns
And God's fair winds
Sustain us now
And evermore.
