Now the ills of flesh surround us,
Oft the storm clouds hide the sun,
But though dark the night around us,
Day is breaking further on;
Further onward all the mists and clouds are gone.
Here the thorns with flowers are growing;
Rough and weary is our path;
Gentle waters seldom flowing
In the desert ways of earth,
Further onward, sweet immortal springs have birth.
"Press onward"—hear the Voice whose sweetness
Was born of Love for us, and grew,
Tuned to harmony's perfectness,
Into the song the angels knew;
Further onward we shall join the chorus too.
