OH! Why, my young; friend, do you sorrow?

Though storm-clouds should gather to-day, 

  The sun's genial rays on the morrow 

Will drive all their darkness away.

Though the hill you are climbing be rugged, 

Your pathway all covered with thorns,

There's a broad vale of sunlight beyond you, 

And shelter from earth's wintry storms,

This world may look dismal and dreary, 

And fill our young hearts with dismay;

Just beyond, there is rest for the weary, 

And night will exchange with bright day.

There's work to be done in the vineyard;

The Master is calling for you 

No time now for sighing and sadness;

The city of gold is in view.

And those who would dwell in its mansions, 

And bask in the smiles of our God,

Must heed well the teachings of Jesus, 

And walk in the path that he trod. 


THE bird that soars on highest wing, 

builds on the ground his lowly nest;

And she that doth most sweetly sing, 

Sings in the shade, when all things rest.

In lark and nightingale we see

What honor hath humility