Classic Poem

Oh beautiful, thrice beautiful thou art!
More beautiful than ever! when the days
Of early love were with us, and the ways
Tender with early blossoms of the heart,
Thou wast not then more beautiful—the rays
Of love's fair morn were round thee, but the sun
Now shines upon us; great heights have we won,
And cause there is for unremitting praise.

The great God who has led us by the hand
Through all these desolate and lonely years,
Through arid furrows and grim wastes of sand,
Now parts his clouds—and all the prospect clears;
Now leads us forth from out the flowerless land,
Gives us green buds for thorns, and smiles for tears.