Glory to God for the good he hath done us,
Praised be his name for his infinite love,
Joy! for the woe that hath rested upon us
Flies, in the light which is shed from above.
Hail to the morning which dawns on our sorrow,
Bright as the beam of its radiant glance;
Clouds that were freighted with darkness and horror
Vanish and fade in its lovely advance.
Weeping and wo, and the midnight of trial
Flee from our hearths that are lighted again,
Poverty pouring her bitterest vial
Turns into plenty and smiles in the glen.
Burning reproach and the finger of scorning,
Hunger and nakedness, tattered and pale,
All are removed in the light of the morning,
Lost, like the vapors that swim in the vale.
Love hath re-lighted the fire on her altar;
Cherubs are smiling, where starving babes wept;
Law, with the menace of dungeon and halter,
Keepeth no longer the vigils it kept.
They who have loved us return from their error,
Plenty, and honor, and joy in their path;
Now is their coming no longer in terror,
Wretched, and cursing, and burning with wrath.
Holy religion, and virtue, and quiet,
Reign in the halls where the debauches trod;
Praises ascend, whore the drunkard in riot
Mocked his Redeemer and tempted his God.
Praise! for our peace that is poured like a river;
Joy! for the Sabbath which dawns on the soul;
Glory, dominion, and honor for ever
Be to the Lord who hath broken the bowl!
