In Alpine valleys, they who watch for dawn
Look never to the east, but fix their eyes
On loftier mountain-peaks of snow, which rise
To west or south.
Before the happy morn
Has sent one ray of kindling red, to warn
The sleeping clouds along the eastern skies
That it is near,—flushing, in glad surprise,
These royal hills, for royal watchmen born,
Discover that God's great new day begins;
And, shedding from their sacred brows a light
Prophetic, wake the valley from its night.
Such mystic light as this a great soul wins,
Who overlooks earth's wall of griefs and sins,
And, steadfast, always gazing on the white
Great throne of God, can call aloud with deep
Pure voice of Truth, to waken them who sleep.
Whether the tempests lull or blow,
Whether the currents ebb or flow,
Whether the future smile or no,
Whether the harvests blight or grow,
Whether the years are swift or slow,
In days of joy or days of woe,
In fortune high or fortune low,
This be my creed for friend or foe—
Gather the roses as you go.
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