Bird in a Winter Storm

Soft, sweet summer was warm and glowing
Bright were the blossoms on every bough
I trusted Him when the roses were blooming
And I trust Him now.
Your way, not mine
However dark it be
Lead me by Your hand,
Choose out the path for me.
Not mine, not mine the choice
In things great or small
Be my guide, my strength,
My wisdom and my all.
Strong is my faith when weakly falters
Now that the roses have ceased to grow
Frail was the trust that now should alter
I’m doubting his love when the storm clouds grow.