The morn awakes, and I behold with quick, glad eye
The beauty of the hills. Once through my tears
They loomed so far and bleak against the darkling sky
That weary hopes grew into silent fears.
Yet I would reach the heights where smiles the golden day,
So I looked back for some fair, easier road;
But finding none, I took the straight and narrow way;
Yet sank beneath the weight of my great load.
I 'm climbing still, but free, since I the burden laid
Far, far behind. The stony steeps I tread
Now with a firmer foot. The somber shadows fade,
And brighter shines the midnight star o'erhead.
For every thorn that pricks my upward struggling feet,
There springs a flower; a jewel for each tear.
And on that once dim path an angel throng I meet
That whisper to my heart, "Thy God is near."
