Light, great light, Alleuher's high spirit, that shines above the day,
Searching the souls of the living things, calling his children from
sin away.
I will not grow weary in the times, which others may fear.
He shall return at the end of each year.
I will wait for his glory shining through all creation unto my spirit
to appear.
My soul sings by the rivers millions of songs of thee.
All through the ages thou hast truly been with me, guarding my spirit
from sin's reveries.
* * * * *
I see out in the fields of memory, a light which gleams across the
night of mist to me.
By its rays I walk as in times of past along by the shores of the old,
old sea.
I have found no mystic treasure hidden in the mines of long ago.
He has kept for me a light in heaven's window, burning bright in its
intrinsic glow.
I see by the gleam of the yesterdays, the things of today's revene.
I see the lane that leads over the river of tomorrow's bridged stream.
My treasure has never been hidden, or cast away by the hand of wroth.
But kept a gift of mercy, burnished bright from the dust of moth.
I walked for a day by Shilo's river, out in the land; I compassed the
rays of Eden,
And harked to listen at the call of Zion upon the golden strands.
I pass from ages unto ages, I am a child of time.
I cannot return or choose the wrath that I would gather, as I pass by
the gates of my own mind.
If I pass over the divide, the world shall see the things that Jehovah
lent to me.
That great light for which his son once died on Calvary.
That I might sift the sheltered sands, and gather out the gold;
Strewn by the mystic hand of him, back in the days of old.
Through the hills and upon the desert, as a mighty obelisk stands,
We gather out the wreaths of beauty, cast for the life of man.
The hosts stand in the distance, to observe the things that we do.
As our ridged furrows in the gray light come trailing through.
As I wrought with my comrades, I saw some jewels glitter in the sands;
Ling'ring in the dust of time, to be brought within demand.
The soul is always waiting, and the heart is always true;
Where the workmen seek to gather, from the dust beneath the azure
lights of blue.
* * * * *
Searching the souls of the living things, calling his children from
sin away.
I will not grow weary in the times, which others may fear.
He shall return at the end of each year.
I will wait for his glory shining through all creation unto my spirit
to appear.
My soul sings by the rivers millions of songs of thee.
All through the ages thou hast truly been with me, guarding my spirit
from sin's reveries.
* * * * *
I see out in the fields of memory, a light which gleams across the
night of mist to me.
By its rays I walk as in times of past along by the shores of the old,
old sea.
I have found no mystic treasure hidden in the mines of long ago.
He has kept for me a light in heaven's window, burning bright in its
intrinsic glow.
I see by the gleam of the yesterdays, the things of today's revene.
I see the lane that leads over the river of tomorrow's bridged stream.
My treasure has never been hidden, or cast away by the hand of wroth.
But kept a gift of mercy, burnished bright from the dust of moth.
I walked for a day by Shilo's river, out in the land; I compassed the
rays of Eden,
And harked to listen at the call of Zion upon the golden strands.
I pass from ages unto ages, I am a child of time.
I cannot return or choose the wrath that I would gather, as I pass by
the gates of my own mind.
If I pass over the divide, the world shall see the things that Jehovah
lent to me.
That great light for which his son once died on Calvary.
That I might sift the sheltered sands, and gather out the gold;
Strewn by the mystic hand of him, back in the days of old.
Through the hills and upon the desert, as a mighty obelisk stands,
We gather out the wreaths of beauty, cast for the life of man.
The hosts stand in the distance, to observe the things that we do.
As our ridged furrows in the gray light come trailing through.
As I wrought with my comrades, I saw some jewels glitter in the sands;
Ling'ring in the dust of time, to be brought within demand.
The soul is always waiting, and the heart is always true;
Where the workmen seek to gather, from the dust beneath the azure
lights of blue.
* * * * *