p. 1 | MORNING by E. M. B.

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jun 25, 1901

MORNING

By E. M. B.

The morning cometh! The bitter night that wraps this guilty earth, That night so full of weeping and of sighs, Is now far spent; we wait the glorious birth Of day, the golden day of paradise.

The morning cometh! The shapeless fog which the gray valley fills, And climbs in serpent folds the mountain-steep, Becomes a rosy mist upon the hills, A shining vapor where the waters sleep.

The morning cometh! And gladder are her songs than those of night, Touched less with tears and trembling chords of pain, But dreaming of baptismal floods of light, And pearly, new-blown dawning after rain.

The morning cometh! A note of praise thrills through these dusty hearts, These hearts so long in silent fear bowed down; Immortal life from mortal languor starts, And the pale martyr wears a starry crown.

— E. M. B., in World's Crisis.