For the fledgeling bird-life stilled,
Its wings untaught,
Its music all untrilled;
For the poet’s voiceless thought,
The song unsung;
For the loving heart unsought;
Hope, fair and sweet and young,
Dead-nor forgot;
For the seed that is not sown,
And the bud that falls unblown,
What shall atone?
Somewhere the seed must spring.
The song be sung;
Somewhere, green boughs among,
The bird must sing,
Must brood and build;
Somewhere, the heart be wooed;
Somewhere, far out of pain,
Hope, fair and strong, again
Rise from the tomb.
Somewhere, for God is good,
Life’s blossoms, unfilled,
Must spring from dust and gloom
To perfect bloom.
