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MORNING

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Dec 3, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 56.

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MORNING.

THE tide of human life ebbs to and fro, For night and sleep's forgetfulness are past, And toiling men awake to come and go, Upon the turmoil of a city cast. Afar from ways that breathe of sordid care, Of aching hearts, and many a life forlorn, In weary want I turn my sleepless eyes To where the maiden Morning's smiles are fair, By rippling streams beneath unsullied skies, Where winds come murmuring through the balmy air, With sounds of angels' wings in Paradise, And still beyond, where blossoms have no thorn, And souls no striving, shades of grief and woe Lost in the glory of eternal morn. —Selected.