Where are the swallows fled?
Frozen and dead
Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore.

O doubting heart!

Far over purple seas
They wait, in sunny ease,
The balmy southern breeze
To bring them to their northern homes once more.

* * * * *

Why must the flowers die?
Prisoned they lie
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.

O doubting heart!

They only sleep below
The soft white ermine snow
While winter winds shall blow,
To breathe and smile upon you soon again.

* * * * *

The sun has hid its rays
These many days;
Will dreary hours never leave the earth?

O doubting heart!

The stormy clouds on high
Veil the same sunny sky
That soon, for spring is nigh,
Shall wake the summer into golden mirth.

* * * * *

Fair hope is dead, and light
Is quenched in night;
What sound can break the silence of despair?

O doubting heart!

The sky is overcast,
Yet stars shall rise at last,
Brighter for darkness past;
And angels' silver voices stir the air.