Bright bird on yonder dreary, leafless tree,
Tuning that merry, lithesome throat to sing;
Your perfect faith, far-seeing, waits the spring
Though snow-flakes fly and skies all sullen be.
Is wisdom given your simple mind to know
Beneath the bark the warm saps leap and dart?
Or do you heed no herald but the heart
That trusts in God through sunshine and through snow?
Like you, brave bluebird, blind to force that lies
Beneath the dreary surface of today,
Yet trusting still God's promise of the May,
Are wingèd hopes, that seem sweet prophecies.

Edith Willis Linn Forbes (1865-1945)