Short is the day, and night is long;
But he who waits for day
In darkness sits not quite so long,
And earlier hails the twilight gray,—
A little earlier hails the ray,
That drives the mists of night away.

So was this land cold, dead, and drear,
When to the rock-bound shore
That Pilgrim band, Christ-led, drew near,
The promise of a new-born year,—
Twilight, which shows that even here
The sun of gladness shall appear,
The land be dark no more.

So was the world dark, drear, and wild,
When on that blessed morn
A baby on his mother smiled.
The dawning comes, the royal child.
The Sun of life, is born.

The lengthening days shall longer grow,
Till summer rules the land;
From Pilgrim rills full rivers flow,—
Roll stronger and more grand.

So, Father, grant that year by year
The Sun of Righteousness more clear
To our awaiting hearts appear,
And from his doubtful East arise
The noonday Monarch of the skies,—
Till darkness from the nations flies;
Till all know him as they are known,
Till all the earth be all his own.