Bright shines the sun, but brighter after rain;
⁠The clouds that darken make the sky more clear;
So rest is sweeter when it follows pain,
⁠And the sad parting makes our friends more dear.

'Tis well it should be thus: our Father knows
⁠The things that work together for our good;
We draw a sweetness from our bitter woes —
⁠We would not have all sunshine if we could.

The days with all their beauty and their light
⁠Come from the dark and into dark return;
Day speaks of earth, but heaven shines through the night,
⁠Where in the blue a thousand star-fires burn.

So runs the law, the law of recompense,
⁠That binds our life on earth and heaven in one;
Faith cannot live when all is sight and sense,
⁠But faith can live and sing when these are gone.

We grieve and murmur, for we can but see
⁠The single thread that flies in silence by;
When if we only saw the things to be,
⁠Our lips would breathe a song and not a sigh.

Wait then, my soul, and edge the darkening cloud
⁠With the bright gold that Hope can always lend;
And if to-day thou art with sorrow bowed,
⁠Wait till to-morrow and thy grief shall end!

And when we reach the limit of our days,
⁠Beyond the reach of shadows and of night,
Then shall our every look and voice be praise
⁠To him who shines, our everlasting light.

⁠In winter-time, when earth is drest
⁠In robes of snowy white,
⁠And peeping from their prickly nest
⁠Shine holly-berries bright;
When the sky is grey, and the air is chill,
And the frost-bound river is hushed and still,
⁠The Christmas bells ring out their mirth
⁠To greet the day of Jesus' birth.

⁠Hark! hark! they ring, "Good news for men!
⁠Let tears and sorrow cease,
⁠For Christmas comes with grace again,
⁠Good-will, and joy, and peace!"
The angels to-day are busy on earth
With praises from Heaven for the Saviour's birth,
⁠While glory in the highest rings
⁠To Jesus Christ, the king of kings.

⁠The night is dark, the earth is cold,
⁠Yet Jesus leaves his throne;
⁠To simple hearts the tale is told —
⁠"He cometh to his own!"
But the world goes on, for its eyes are dim,
And its selfish heart has no thought for him,
⁠Though Bethlehem is filled to-night
⁠With glory from the light of light.

⁠And heavenly joy shall flood each soul
⁠Which truly worships there,
⁠And learns that love whose sweet control
⁠Makes Christmas everywhere;
And life's winter-time shall be bright for them,
With faith in the story of Bethlehem,
⁠The Father's love, the Saviour's birth,
⁠Glory in heaven, and peace on earth.

Hush! let me hear of love no more
⁠Till grief has had her rightful day:
Must I not count my treasure o'er
⁠Before I give it all away?

Sweet home! from every field and tree
⁠Breathes all my past of joys and tears;
The store of lifelong memory,
⁠The voiceless love of twenty years.

My father's sigh, with smiles above,
⁠The tear my mother lets not fall,
My brother's heart, so sore with love —
⁠Can I alone then heal them all?

To love and heal, one little hour!
⁠To loose and lift each clinging root;
To pour the scent of my last flower
⁠On those who shall not see my fruit:

One little hour! my woman's eyes
⁠With childhood's dying tears are dim:
Love calls me: I shall soon arise,
⁠And bid farewell, and follow him!

Lo! the day, dawning with a rosy brightness,
Leaps to each mountain over all the valleys,
While the grey twilight, vanishing before it,
⁠Clings to the lowlands;
Where the hoarse tumult of an angry torrent,
Lonely in silence as of old eternal,
Roars a rough nocturn, ever in the darkness
⁠Thundering onward, —
Like a forlorn soul that a gloomy passion
Urges, and dark mists gather all around him, —
But the high mountains, if he gaze upon them,
⁠Glow with the sunlight.