Carols that hope.
“First last, last first,” our hearts repeat;
An azure gleam invades the ground,
As when—heaven breaking ’neath the feet—
Bluebells are found.
As when, sore burdened, weary, we,
With feet deep sunk in miry sod,
Lift suddenly our eyes, and see
The Hills of God.
Hoping we pass. In grief, in mirth,