What poor weeping ones were saying
Nineteen hundred years ago,
We, the same weak faith betraying,
Say in our sad hours of woe;
Looking at some trouble lying
In the dark and dread unknown,
We too often ask with sighing:
Who shall roll away the stone?"
Thus with care our spirits crushing
When they should from care be free,
And in spirit, soul out-gushing,
Rise in rapture, Lord, to Thee.
For before the day was ended,
Oft we've had with joy to own
Angels have from heaven descended
And have rolled away the stone.
Many a storm-cloud hov'ring o'er us
Never pours on us its rain;
Many a grief we see before us
Never comes to cause us pain.
Oft-times, on the dread tomorrow
Sunshine comes, the cloud has flown!
Why then ask in foolish sorrow:
Who shall roll away the stone?"
Burden not thy soul with sadness,
Make a wiser, better choice,
Drink the wine of Life with gladness,
God doth bid thee, Saint, rejoice!
In today's bright sunlight basking
Leave tomorrow's cares alone;
Spoil not present joys by asking:
" Who shall roll away the stone?"