Classic Poem

Few are the mornings that are cloudless here,
Few the glad hours that know no gloomy shade;
But one bright morning will at last appear
Radiant as if with angel-robes arrayed.

The morn that breaks upon the ransomed soul
When from the bonds of flesh and sin set free,
While Passion's waves no longer wildly roll,
And the frail bark floats not on Sorrow's sea, —

The cloudless morn! it ushers in the day,
Glad, bright, and beautiful, that ne'er shall end:
How blest are they who hope to greet its ray,
And ceaseless ages in its light to spend!

Hearts that are throbbing o'er some hope deferred,
Eyes that are dim with weeping all the day
O'er homes grown desolate, have gladly heard,
And patient wait the hour to pass away.

Waiting beside the river! — soon to speed
Across the billows to the land of rest, —
The home for all God's children, where, indeed,
The loving spirit shall at last be blest.

O morning without clouds! my spirit-bark
Is waiting now beside the solemn sea.
Come in thy brightness! light each pathway dark,
And give the radiant gladness now to me.

I do not fear to greet thee: I have seen
Pale faces glow beneath thy wondrous light,
And on the silent lips a smile serene;
And I would follow to the land of light.

Break then, O cloudless morn! break thou for me,
Whene'er my earthly toils and griefs are o'er;
Then, with exultant joy, I'll cross Death's sea,
And greet my crowned ones on Life's farther shore.