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A BIRD SINGS IN A WINTER STORM

   
  Sweet was the summer,
       soft and golden,
Delicious the fruit on
       each little limb;
I doubted not for my
       daily keep
I trusted Him.

How small my faith
       should it waiver
Now that the earth is
       no longer warm;
And frail my trust should
       it fail me
Since I'm lost in a winter
       storm.