Classic Poem

It is a late and chill October day.
A violet mist veils the far Jersey hills,
But richest color the near landscape fills,
And the green turf is greener than in May.
Gone are the birds and crickets. Well-a-day,
They will come back some time, when springtime spills
New blossoms where the frosty dew now kills.
We dig the cool earth, and therein we lay
Bulbs of the crocus to await that time,
Confident that through all the winter drear
They will lie dreaming of that glorious hour
And shall awake in beauty! Oh, sublime,
In such small miracles, the hope to cheer
The soul that trusts God's wisdom, love, and power.