The light is rising o'er the sky:
The dews are fading from the hill;--
But where's the joyous light to dry
The tears, that from my heart distil?

Tears, deep and hidden in their spring;--
And well may those who weep despair,
If there's no sun or star to bring
Some ray of hope and comfort there.

E'en when thou speakest, see the light,
Oh sinner, brighter than the day;
And let the beam that cheers thy sight,
Its gladness to thy heart convey.

When angels sung 'good will to men,'
Its splendor shone o'er Bethlehem's plain;--
And shining now as bright as then,
It cheers the mourning soul again.