Wild man Winter with his windswept hair,
Frozen features and an ice cold stare
Is painting white the country as he goes;
He doesn’t like much variety—
He paints alike every plant and tree—
Maybe white is the only hue he knows?
The little creatures run away from him
Before his brush catches up with them—
They’ll hibernate ‘till Mr Spring comes ‘round;
Likewise all the bulbs and seedlings stay
Snuggled deep below ‘till a warmer day
When Mr Sunlight softens up the ground.
Tall and stately trees are bowing low,
Their branches bent by the weighty snow
As they acknowledge wild man Winter’s reign;
The frozen lake like a sea of glass
In stillness waits for this time to pass
As if it knows the thaw will come again.
Patient trust is in these scenes displayed—
A quiet and silent serenade
Leaves my soul in wonderment enthralled;
So come winter, summer, fall or spring
Give all glory to our Lord and King—
Almighty God on high Who orders all!
Though your soul might be in winter’s chill,
Don’t abandon hope—trust Him—be still!
His will is being outworked in all these things;
Situations all so drab and drear
Will be transformed when the Son appears—
The revelation of the King of Kings!
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