How will this pure white blossom grow,
How will it bloom through storm and snow;
Through wind and hail and falling rain,
Will it survive, remain the same?
Born in the early days of Spring,
It woke to hear a robin sing;
And lifting up its eyes did sign,
To see a rainbow in the sky.
Through all of life's trials - that come and go,
Its roots go down deep - of this we know;
And, like our love, it shall not die,
But bloom forever beneath God's sky.
Annonymous
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