I’m glad to know that I may be
Contented as a goodly tree.
A tree that stands so straight and strong­
A lovely poem or a song.
A poem framed without a word,
A song our ears have never heard.
Contentment is a grace it knows—
‘Tis pleased to be where’er it grows.
Tis happy in the rain of spring
To shelter birds and hear them sing
Or in the sultry summer air
To fold its hands in quiet prayer.
When autumn strips each branch and limb
It chants a sacrificial hymn.
Fierce winter winds can harm no part­
Contentment rules within its heart.
The snows that weigh it down in May
Sweet blossoms held but for a day­
Are no more coveted and sought
Than snows the cruel winter brought.
It reaches out its arms the same
To wind or sunshine, dew or rain.
It takes and folds within its heart
The simple portion they impart.
‘Tis satisfied to stand and grow
In loveliness I long to know.
So I am praying I may be
Contented as a yielded tree.