©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson
Where grows the tree so firm and strong
that no foul wind can bring it down,
the tree so straight and true and tall
no hunter’s axe will make it fall?
Which branch nourished by rain and sun
still puts forth buds when spring is done
and when the earth runs dry, digs deep
to sip each drop its roots can keep?
What lily blooms beyond the frost,
once ice assails and hope lies lost?
Will trembling hand reach down to save
such fragile beauty from the grave?
How can a forest loom so still?
The air feels empty, and the trill
of birdsong turns to silent plea,
a ghost inside a memory.
The beauty fades too fast, too fast.
Peace moves in slowly, rushes past.
Where lies the power to brave the squall,
to seek the blossom under all?
I must believe and always will––
the tree, the branch, the bloom, the trill,
and all the beauty of each soul
reside in Christ, who makes us whole.
The power is in His loving hands
to fit us for this world’s demands,
sustain us by His selfless grace,
and ease us in His warm embrace.
What is my part? To plant in me
the branch, the bloom, the stalwart tree.
“O God, where art thou?
And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?