A MORN will dawn on this dark night of woe;
A sunny calm succeed the midnight storm;
To those who joyfully endure, below,
And faithful to their trust, his will perform.
A few more conflicts on this stormy shore;
A few more trials in this vale below,
And we shall shout our toils and sufferings o'er,
Where everlasting pleasures we shall know.
Then fainting, pilgrim on the thorny way,
O look not back nor let thy labors cease;
For soon the rich reward will thee repay,
When Jesus comes to bring a sweet release.
Not with a purple robe or crown of thorns
The Conqueror comes, to certain victory led;
A brighter crown his lovely brow adorns
Than ever o'er a monarch's, luster shed.
In all the Father's glory he'll descend,
His saints to gather home in endless day;
While shining hosts of angels will attend
His burning chariot, on its glorious way.
And when the parting heavens shall back retire,
And clothed with power the Son of man appears,
Before the flame of his avenging ire,
The loftiest bow; the stoutest quail with fear.
Not so with those who love and serve him here,
And onward press, whatever may annoy,
Who long for their Deliverer to appear,
That in his presence they may share his joy.
No! this will be the burden of their song,
As untold glory lights the careworn brow;
Lo! this is He for whom we've waited long,
And from the storm of wrath he'll save us now.