By Harry Pleydell-Bouverie
When the days turn their bleakest
Our struggles seem ceaseless
The sun’s certainty struggles
The dark’s daring teeters troubles
The days march on,
A pilgrimage of plight through this life
Christ’s strife did nothing for our rife
But teach us a lie for when we die
But hope is strong when winter wanders on,
Beauty in bleak, no sadness to seek,
Nothing to preach but the genius in each.