p. 659 | JOY IN THE MORNING by F. E. Snow

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Aug 27, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 42.

JOY IN THE MORNING.

By F. E. Snow

BY F. E. SNOW.

"Joy cometh in the morning."

EVENING was drawing on, and in the west The sun sank slowly, peacefully, to rest; Where late the stately monarch took his way, The silver clouds were piled in vast array, Pale, cold, and cheerless in the waning light, Proclaiming the approach of dreary night. My soul lamented o'er the dying day, Striving through tears to catch each last faint ray, Longing, though vainly, for that chieftain's power Who lengthened Israel's triumphal hour. But suddenly, as when the meteor's glare Flashes and quivers on the midnight air, Those darkening clouds were flushed with rosy light, And glowed and thrilled in colors warm and bright; And all the west was like the temple old, With arch, and colonnade, and gate of gold; And swiftly came to mind those sacred lays Which David chanted to Jehovah's praise:— Lift up your heads, ye gates Of everlasting gold; The King of Glory waits; Your gilded leaves unfold. Lift up your heads, ye doors; Why swing ye now so slow? The song of triumph soars; The conq'ror's trumpets blow. Make ready every heart The mighty King to greet; Prepare to hear your part, And all his praise repeat. For only they who keep Their hearts and hands all pure, Can climb up Zion's steep, And victor's palms secure. So, as the glory faded and the night Came gently downward, blotting out the light, The grand old words kept ringing o'er and o'er Within my heart, bidding me sigh no more; Each setting sun proclaims a coming morn; Out of each sorrow chastened joy is born; Each cloud that gathers shall be flushed with light, And songs of vict'ry rise through ev'ry night.

—New York Observer.