Cecil Frances Alexander (1823–1895)

EVERY morning the red sun

Rises warm and bright;

But the evening cometh on,

And the dark, cold night;

There’s a bright land far away,

Where ’tis never-ending day.

Every spring the sweet young flowers

Open bright and gay,

Till the chilly autumn hours

Wither them away:

There’s a land we have not seen,

Where the trees are always green.

Little birds sing songs of praise

All the summer long,

But in colder, shorter days

They forget their song:

There’s a place where Angels sing

Ceaseless praises to their King.

Christ our Lord is ever near

Those who follow Him;

But we cannot see Him here,

For our eyes are dim:

There is a most happy place,

Where men always see His Face.

Who shall go to that fair land?

All who do the right:

Holy children there shall stand,

In their robes of white;

For that Heaven so bright and blest,

Is our everlasting rest.