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.