WHEN THE SUN BREAKS THROUGH.
By Llewellyn A. Morrison
BY LLEWELLYN A. MORRISON. THEY, who dwell within the valley
Where the rugged mountains rise
Toward the morning, till their summits
Kiss the azure of the skies,
Often lodge in murk and shadow,
Where the mist doth all bedew;
But the pasture lands are greener
When the sun breaks through. It is not as easy serving
In the humidness and haze
As when every bush and bracken
In the brilliance are ablaze,—
But we gather faith and patience
Our ideals to pursue,
And expect to see the fulness
When the sun breaks through. If the clouds be dense above us,
And the world is in the wet,—
Still the winds are on the mountains,
We can hear their music yet;
Past the duskiness and dimness
Come the gleam rays into view
As the heralds of the splendor,
When the sun breaks through. Tho the fog distort the fancy
Till the less appears the great,
And God's Acre looms a “Tophet”
Where abhorrent demons wait;
It is only in the seeming—
Morn by morn the day is new. We shall see the “Holy City”
When the “Sun” breaks through.