I Care not if the clouds be hanging low.
And spreading mists obscure the light of day.
Just yesterday such trifles counted so,—
But now, O Lord. I've found the better way.
What matter if the sun be hid from view
And gloomy shadows rest on scenes we love?
There is a light that maketh all things new.
The light of Truth that shineth from above.
Let there be light! the voice of Love hath said.
Irradiant Life before mine eyes appeared.
Where, then, could rest the phantom clouds of dread?
The shades of melancholy's night I'd feared?
O radiant day, that saw all shadows fled
Back to the nothingness which gave them birth,
And showed my falt'ring feet the way that led
On lip to God, forsaking things of earth!
