II.
'Tis morning on the hill-tops? The darkness at the feet
Shall blossom at the dawning with all the roses sweet,
And every grief we gather and every tear we know
Shall vanish into gladness as up the paths we go.
'Tis morning on the hill-tops? The darkness at the feet
Shall blossom at the dawning with all the roses sweet,
And every grief we gather and every tear we know
Shall vanish into gladness as up the paths we go.