REPENTANCE
WHEN suddenly all self-condemned we stand
And see the chaff lie thick upon life's floor,—
The besom, waved with over zealous hand,
Sweeps grain with chaff its eager strokes before,
And all our hopes of harvest seem undone.
But, the long winter of repentance o'er,
The gentle spring returns with shower and sun
And where was erst gray dust beside the door
One day is half imagined and half seen
A sudden lightly scattered veil of green
And faint hope trembles into life once more.
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