LENT

Softer the seed grows

under the cold earth—

Sooner the ice flows

from the spring's birth.

Over the world’s edge

wider the light leans—

Through the gray hedge

milder the wind keens.

Quicker the earth turns

past the old dark—

Longer the sun burns—

Higher the day’s mark.

By the light’s worth

greater the truth shows—

Braver the world's mirth —

Plainer the heart grows.