The days wax long, which, I am told, is why
The ancients called this season Lententide:
When folk of many stations, low and high,
See harbingers of Spring on every side.
The Sun, with never-stinting zeal, now shines
Where Winter lately blew her icy breath;
His rays revive the frigid earth, as wines
Draw men, half-frozen, from the brink of death.
Cold hearts, turn once again toward that Sun
Whose beams enlighten all our cold, dark land,
Whose death and rising satisfied the One
Who lit the firmament with his own hand.
Embracing those least worthy as His own,
He thaws our hearts and warms us to the bone.