'Tis past the dark and dreary night;
And, Lord, we hail thee now,
Our morning star, without a cloud
Of sadness on thy brow.
Thy path on earth, the cross, the grave,
Thy sorrows all are o'er;
And oh, sweet thought! thine eye shall weep,
Thy heart shall break no more.
Deep were those sorrows-deeper still
The love that brought thee low,
That bade the streams of life from thee,
A lifeless victim, flow.
The soldier, as he pierced thee, proved
Man's hatred, Lord, to thee;
While in the blood that stain'd the spear,
Love, only love, we see.
Drawn from thy pierced and bleeding side,
That pure and cleansing flood
Speaks peace to every heart that knows
The virtues of thy blood.
Yet 'tis not that we know the joy
Of cancel'd sin alone,
But happier far, thy saints are call'd
To share thy glorious throne.
So closely are we link'd in love,
So wholly one with thee;
That all thy bliss and glory then,
Our bright reward shall be.
Yes, when the storm of life is calm'd,
The dreary desert pass'd;
Our wayworn hearts shall find in thee
Their full repose at last.