  By EMILY J. BUGBEE. Grow as the trees grow, Your head lifted straight to the sky, Your roots holding fast where they lie, In the richness below, Your branches outspread To the sun pouring down, and the dew, With the glorious infinite blue Stretching over your head. Receiving the storms, That may writhe you, and bend, but not break, While your roots the more sturdily take A strength in their forms. God means us, the growth of His trees, Alike thro’ the shadow and shine, Receiving as freely the life-giving wine Of the air and the breeze. Not sunshine alone, The soft summer dew and the breeze Hath fashioned these wonderful trees, The tempest hath moaned. They have tossed their strong arms in despair, At the blast of the terrible there, In the thunder’s loud tone. But under it all Were the roots clasping closer the sod, The top still aspiring to God, Who prevented their fall. Come out from the gloom And open your heart to the light That is flooding God’s world with delight, And unfolding its bloom. His kingdom of Grace Is symboled in all that we see, In budding and leafing of tree And fruit in its place. |
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