Sounds of spring gently grow, fading from the wild winter woes to the thriving thrones,
whispers: "I'm coming...
We will no longer sleep...
We will no longer weep...
The seeds sown will reap, reap the harvest sown in fall.
The winter's snowy blanket helped us grow.
The tiny seeds that He did sow have died and are reborn to grow.
A plentiful harvest is coming.
A plentiful harvest to grow."
The frogs from the bogs gently sing their songs of spring's coming dawn. The doe in her throe over her dear, eases and kindly watches over her fawn, sleeping soundly through the wet winter rain:
"Spring is coming.
"Spring is coming.
We will frolic again,
running like the wind,
leaping through the lawns."
running like the wind,
leaping through the lawns."
She sighs and nestles down, waiting somewhat patiently.
She knows not what tomorrow holds; we will see what unfolds.
She knows not what tomorrow holds; we will see what unfolds.
But, hope is rising with the sun.
Because, even in darkness, love's not done.
Faith grows with the Son.
Light's love
Flickering flame gently falls across my face
and quietly fills up the space,
casting darkness from this place
and the gloomiest thoughts, it will chase.
We will rise in the morn,
though pained right now, with tears and scorn,
though hard-pressed and ever worn,
We will rise in the morn
Light reveals all around
No hidden thing won't be found
Captured up, safe and sound,
Victory drums will pound
