Hope

As Bunlight in the western sky Touches the dark clouds overhead And tinta then silver, gold and red, 80 blessed hope, born from on high Touches our lives. It takes the tears And blighted dreams of bygone years, That turned our noonday into night: The suffered wrongs, tlie pangs of wo That God himaelf nao only know, And gives to each soms ray of light. It penetrates the deepest gloom And reaohes out bevond the tomb.