Mondays are for Grace

Between Winter and Spring

That weary time that comes between

The last snow and the earliest green!

One barren clod the wide fields lie,

And all our comfort is the sky.

We know the sap is in the tree, --

That life at buried roots must be;

Yet dreary is the earth we tread,

As if her very soul were dead.

Before the dawn the darkest hour,

The blank and chill before the flower!

Beauty prepares this background gray

Whereon her loveliest tints to lay.

Ah, patience! ere we dream of it,

Spring's fair new gospel will be writ.

Look up! good only can befall,

While heaven is at the heart of all!

-- Lucy Larcom

in Spring: a Spiritual Biography of the Season