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Though the morn may be serene,
Not a threat’ning cloud be seen;
Who can undertake to say
’Twill be pleasant all the day?

Tempests suddenly may rise,
Darkness overspread the skies;
Lightnings flash, and thunders roar,
Ere a short–lived day be o’er.

Often thus, the child of grace,
Enters on his christian race;
Guilt and fear are overborne,
’Tis with him a summer’s morn:

While his new–felt joys abound,
All things seem to smile around;
And he hopes it will be fair,
All the day, and all the year.

Should we warn him of a change,
He would think the caution strange;
He no change or trouble fears,
Till the gath’ring storm appears;

Till dark clouds his sun conceal,
Till temptation’s pow’r he feel;
Then he trembles, and looks pale,
All his hopes and courage fail.

But the wonder–working Lord
Soothes the tempest by his word;
Stills the thunder, stops the rain,
And his sun breaks forth again:

Soon the cloud again returns,
Now he joys, and now he mourns;
Oft his sky is overcast,
Ere the day of life be past.

Tried believers too can say,
In the course of one short day,
Though the morning has been fair,
Proved a golden hour of prayer:

Sin, and Satan, long ere night,
Have their comforts put to flight;
Ah! what heart–felt peace and joy,
Unexpected storms destroy.

Dearest Savior, call us soon
To thine high eternal noon;
Never there shall tempest rise
To conceal thee from our eyes:

Satan shall no more deceive,
We no more thy Spirit grieve;
But through cloudless, endless days,
Sound, to golden harps, thy praise.

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Meter: 7 7 7 7
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