Hope Springs in Every Breast

The old days, the old days, how oft the poets sing,

The days of hope at dewy morn, the days of early spring,

The days when every mead was fair, and every heart was true,

And every maiden wore a smile, and every sky was blue

The days when dreams were golden and every night brought rest,

The old, old days of youth and love, the days they say were best

But I--I sing the new days, the days that lie before,

The days of hope and fancy, the days that I adore.

The new days, the new days, the selfsame days they are;

The selfsame sunshine heralds them, the selfsame evening star

Shines out to light them on their way unto the Bygone Land,

And with the selfsame arch of blue the world to-day is spanned.

The new days, the new days, when friends are just as true,

And maidens smile upon us all, the way they used to do,

Dreams we know are golden dreams, hope springs in every breast;

It cheers us in the dewy morn and soothes us when we rest.

The new days, the new days, of them I want to sing,

The new days with the fancies and the golden dreams they bring;

The old days had their pleasures, but likewise have the new

The gardens with their roses and the meadows bright with dew;

We love to-day the selfsame way they loved in days of old;

The world is bathed in beauty and it isn't growing cold;

There's joy for us a-plenty, there are tasks for us to do,

And life is worth the living, for the friends we know are true.

-Edgar Guest "The New Days" from Just Folks

I, like many, are concerned, or rather mulling, over the our nation's decisions of the last few days. But I was reminded as I sat on the back patio and looked out over the field, with horses wagging the trees to itch a scratch and the beautiful blackbird adorned in bright orange and yellow shoulder pads, how lovely is the world and all her passing vanities.

The days are dark, but haven't they always been? But then again, on that one truly dark day, our Lover pushed back and it -  the insemination of all light, of all hope,and the very end of all story. 

I remind myself, He's got this, His birds are chirping away at the wonder of His Glory.