The Lily

Just yesterday I wandered
Along a gloomy path.
Yews grew along the wayside,
Swayed by the cold wind's blast.
The road was wide and lonely;
The sky was dark and gray.
The trees were never green there.
No flowers grew in May.
But as I wandered, laden
With sorrows and with care,
I chanced to see a lily
Along the roadside bare.
So small and pale and lovely,
So delicate and frail,
Like a whisper of soft music
Or the echo of a prayer.
I stopped, my senses reeling,
Not knowing if 'twas true:
A flower in this wasteland
Where only thistles grew?
But when I knelt and touched it
It felt as real as I,
Soft as a baby's smile
And tender as a sigh.
Then, sudden as the cresting
Of wave upon the sea
I felt a strange emotion,
A new thought stirring me.
It clamored like loud birdsong,
And yet it was so still,
Like waiting in the twilight,
Or sun upon a hill.
It towered like a mountain
With high and lofty peak.
It nestled deep within me
So small and warm and meek.
It lifted up my spirit,
My heart it enveloped.
My eyes were newly opened,
And then I saw--'twas hope.
No more I wander, downcast,
No more I trudge along.
A skip is in my footfall,
And in my heart's a song.
For I have seen the Lily
Among the rocks and thorns
And hope dwells in my heart now,
Bright as a sunny morn.