Sometimes a light surprises The Christian while he sings;
It is the Lord who rises With healing in His wings;
When comforts are declining, He grants the soul again
A season of clear shining To cheer it after rain.

In holy contemplation, We sweetly then pursue
The theme of God's salvation, And find it ever new;
Set free from present sorrow, We cheerfully can say,
E'en let the unknown morrow Bring with it what it may.

It can bring with it nothing, But He will bear us thru;
Who gives the lilies clothing, Will clothe His people, too;
Beneath the spreading heavens No creature but is fed;
And He who feeds the ravens Will give His children bread.

Tho' vine nor fig tree neither Their wonted fruit shall bear,
Tho' all the field should wither, Nor flocks nor herds be there,
Yet God the same abiding, His praise shall tune my voice;
For while in Him confiding, I cannot but rejoice.

Oh, had I wings I would fly away and be at rest,
And I'd praise God in His bright abode.