Spring, and all its morning sounding Guide me up a rocky path; At an angle, streaming downward Is a sort of sunlight bath And the voices singing, singing In the empty church I hear; Songs of sorrow and of triumph Memorized of yesteryear Shadows, gentle on the hillside, Past the cemetery plots, Rows of flowers, shorn, haphazard, A few thorns in empty spots Spring, and hope: poetic fancy, Written often, seldom read -- But there is no hope like finding Hope and joy among the dead Tell me, have you heard it lately? I have, and I've come to tell Though we all walk different pathways I hope you and yours are well In this gathering, this lifetime. Light and darkness felt, and shared, Know that someone loves you ever, Someone's always, always Cared