At dawn sweet flushes softly creep
Along the brightening sky,
Pale watchers whom lone vigils keep
Perceive the sign, and cry,
The night is gone, the bright day comes,
And gladsome light the East illumes!
Bright blossoms on the branches burst,
Then Autumn fruits grow there;
So, dreams that sickly hope had burst
Grown real, make life fair.
And dreams we prize as holy things
That haunt our path on mystic wings.
And so, across life's weary road,
Made dark by many a woe,
We hear the tender words of God,
"Come, follow where I go!"
And listening to that gentle voice
Is fixed the best and earliest choice.
First, we must pray, and watch, and wait,
And bear the daily cross,
And, till we reach the Master's gate,
Count earthly gain as lost,
Then hear, "good servant, nobly done,"
By patience hath the crown been won.