To Him of the Seasons,
That hidden Strength behind wind and thunderstorm.
Who hushed the elder birds,
Only that they might be a lively chorus of fledglings.
Who allowed hands to cut back the barren brush,
Only that the uncovered earth might kiss the seeds into fourfold fertility.
Who darkened morning and froze the sandy shores,
Only that the sun might swell in splendor by cracking them open.
Who encircles my fragile limbs in everlasting mercy,
That my heart might be free to run home