William Sinclair Lord (1863–1925)

AS some great tree that deeper, day by day,

Takes root into the earth—some hardy oak

That firmer stands for every tempest stroke,

And grapples with huge rocks which bar its way—

Doth push abroad, into the winds that sway,

New branches and new buds, which suns provoke

To leaves of living green, until they cloak

Its trunk in beauty, and new strength display,

So does the human soul, when torn with grief,

Grow stronger for the trial and the pain,

Reach out for truths that know not time nor change,

And hold them fast until they bring relief,

While hope and gladness blossom out again

In beauty new and wonderful and strange.