BRONZE
WHY
The verdure sleeps in winter,
Awakes with April rain,
The sun swings low—'tis night—ascends,
And lo! 'tis morn again:
The world spins on triumphant
Across a trackless sky,
And man seeks evermore in vain
The primal reason why.
Awakes with April rain,
The sun swings low—'tis night—ascends,
And lo! 'tis morn again:
The world spins on triumphant
Across a trackless sky,
And man seeks evermore in vain
The primal reason why.
O whither are we rushing?
And wherefrom were we torn?
We breathe from out the silences,
And breathless, back are borne.
And wherefrom were we torn?
We breathe from out the silences,
And breathless, back are borne.
Deep in the soul are voices
Returning this reply:
It took a God to make us,
Only God can answer why!
Returning this reply:
It took a God to make us,
Only God can answer why!
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