There's never a day so sunny
But a little cloud appears,
There's never a life so happy
But has its time of tears;
Yet the sun shines out the brighter
Whenever the tempest clears.
There's never a garden growing
With roses in every plot;
There's never a heart so hardened
But has one tender spot;
We have only to prune the border
To find the forget-me-not.
There's never a sun that rises
But we know 'twill set at night;
The tints that gleam in the morning
At evening are just as bright;
And the hour that is the sweetest
Is between the dark and light.
There is never a cup so pleasant
But has bitter with the sweet;
There is never a path so rugged,
Bearing not the print of feet,
But we have a helper furnished
For the trials we may meet.
There is never a way so narrow
But the entrance is made straight,
There is always a guide to point us
To the "little wicket gate."
And the angels will be nearest
To a soul that's desolate.
There is never a heart so haughty
But will some day bow and kneel;
There is never a heart so wounded
That the Saviour cannot heal;
There is many a lowly forehead
Bearing now the hidden seal.
There's never a dream so happy
But the waking makes us sad;
There's never a dream of sorrow
But the waking makes us glad;
We shall look some day with wonder
At the troubles we have had.
Yet sometimes glimmers on my sight,
Through present wrong, the eternal right;
And, step by step, since time began,
I see the steady gain of man.
--John Greenleaf Whittier.