Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/273



! a new white world! The falling snow Has cloaked the last old year And bid him go.

To-morrow! cries the oak To his lone heart, My sealed buds shall fling Their leaves apart.

To-morrow! pipes the thrush, And once again How sweet the nest that long Was full of rain.

To-morrow! bleats the sheep, And one by one My little lambs shall play Beneath the sun.

For us, too, let some fair To-morrow be, O Thou who weavest threads Of Destiny!

Thou wast a babe on that Far Christmas Day, Let us as children go Upon Thy way.