Joy Comes in the Morning
By H. N. Stevens
“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” Ps. xxx, 5. List those notes of music stealing
Softly on the night of time,
To the anguished heart revealing
Visions of a happier clime.
Future blessedness and pleasure,
Scenes of glory yet to be,
Peace and gladness without measure,
Light and joy and victory. Long the shades of night have bound thee,
Pilgrim on the desert waste;
Long the tempest bursting round thee,
Hurled its angry arrows past.
Yet with fearless firm endeavor,
Thou hast urged thine onward way;
Leaning on the promise ever,
Hoping, watching for the day. Still their earnest eyes upraising
To the Throne of light above,
See the “remnant” fondly gazing
For His coming whom they love.
Oft their cherished hopes lie bleeding,
Smit by sudden vengeance low;
From their grasp the prize receding,
Bids the tear of anguish flow. Yet their “word of patience” keeping,
They their fainting strength renew;
Never on the watch-tower sleeping,
Loving the commands to do.
All the Royal Law fulfilling,
Striving like their Lord to be—
In his cause to suffer, willing,
Till they his salvation see. Lo! it comes, the morn of gladness!
We its dawning light descry;
Flee the shades of grief and sadness,
Glory gilds the eastern sky.
Dry for aye the tear of sorrow,
All the night of weeping past!
Hail, the bright unending morrow,
Long expected—come at last! H. N. STEVENS.
Paris, Me.