When from the Past the light of hope we borrow,
And throw its brightness o’er the coming morrow,—
When, as we wander through life’s devious way,
The realm beyond this mere domain of clay
Shall, like some beacon on a rocky strand,
Win the strained gaze and nerve the feeble hand—
Shall point where danger lies, and where at last
Our bark may ride in safety from the blast!
Such is the Christian’s dream of time to come,
The land of light and love—the happy home—