Poem by Constance Caroline Woodhill Naden

December, 1879

NOW is the Earth at rest from sun and storm;
And stripped of all her gems and vestures gay,
Gives thanks to Heaven, while weaklings can but pray:
In germs of life, uncouth of hue and form,
She feels the glory of the summer swarm,
And knows December not less rich than May;
For she is young as on her primal day,
And still beneath the snow her heart is warm.

All flowers and fruits are folded in her breast,
Waiting but fuller radiance from above;
And she lies dreaming of her destined hour,
All white and still, most like a soul at rest,
Rich in hid wealth, and strong in secret power,
Silent with joy, and pure with perfect love.

1. In the Garden
2. The New Orthodoxy
3. Light-Born Sorrows
4. May, 1879
5. The Ideal

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