Light is the real, and darkness is the lie;
Serene, unchanging, stands the constant sun;
The earth is turning, turning to the light;
Far, far behind stream back the leagues of night,
Forgotten, every one.
Our Jesus fought a night of bitter woe,
So long, so dark, where not a star was born;
He faced the terrors of a pit unknown,
Held to the truth that would redeem his own,
And lo, 'twas Easter morn!
Come, let us say "Our Father," and be sure
He hears us in the dark as in the day;
The everlasting arms are very kind,
And infinitely tender the one Mind—
Now, let me hear you pray!
See where the first faint radiance tips the hill,
Now that the east's dark curtain is withdrawn.
Gone is your sorrow, and forgot the smart;
Did I not tell you, little Faint-of-Heart,
That it would soon be dawn?
