Classic Poem

The white shafts of the dawn dispel
The night clouds banked across the sky;
The sluggish vapours curl and die,
And the day rises. It is well.

Unfold, ye tender blooms of life;
Sing, birds; let all the world be gay:
'Tis well, — the morning of our day
Must rise 'mid joyous songs and strife.

Beat, noonday sun, till all the plain
Swoons, and life seems asleep or dead:
'Tis well, — the harvest of our bread
Is sown in sorrow and reaped in pain.

Close, evening shadows, soft and deep,
When life reviving breathes once more;
Fall, silent night, when toil is o'er,
And the soul folds her wings in sleep

Come joy or grief, come right or wrong,
In good or evil, life or death;
We are the creatures of His breath:
Nor shall His hand forsake us long.