Flowers From Dust

When the wild winds blow
O’r the barren waste
And the chilled rains go
Hard in every place;
The sky is low
And the ground is rough
Till ‘tis hard to know
That ever such stuff
As flowers could grow
‘Tis hard to know
‘Tis hard to know
Upon this long and weary way,
What the heart believes
And the soul does say.
‘Tis hard to trust,
Though it’s true you know,
That out of the dust
Fairest flowers grow.