The minutes pass like hours today,
by Edna Hay-Helps
As doubts and fears cloud my way,
Today, tomorrow seems to be
An even greater uncertainty.
And yet the roses bloom the same,
Their petals falling in stormy rain,
Sweet perfume lingering in the sultry air,
And tomorrow's rosebuds already there.
The summer breeze blows through the trees,
Murmuring and whispering to the leaves,
If I can listen with inner peace,
I will hear the voice of nature speak.
But if I listen when Soul does speak,
I will hear the solace that I seek,
For in it's silent wordless call,
Is that sacred Being within us all.