Pillowed ’neath mounds of fleecy snow,

While skies are gray and storm-winds blow,

Fettered by frost, and bravely wait,

And trust in spring or soon or late.

Hope dies not in the winter-tide,

Cool morn may ripen to hot noon,

And evening dusks creep all too soon

But through the night there stir and thrill

For souls there comes a winter-tide,

Though winter days may linger long,

And snows be deep and frosts be strong,

When Christ shall shine, who is the Sun,

Spring-time shall be for every one.

Oh, mighty Lord of winter-tide!

Come to our hearts this Easter Day,

Melt all the prisoning ice away,

Making both good and ill to be

Thy blessed opportunity.