Bimeby

Suppose the sky is dark at dawn,

     And clouds hang gray and low?

Suppose the thrush don’t sing at morn,

     Because there is no glow?

Bimeby the clouds will break away,

     The sun will have his fling;

Bimeby ‘twill be a pleasant day

     An’ then the thrush will sing.

Suppose the winter days are long,

     An’ Natur’s gone to sleep?

Suppose the bitin’ winds are strong,

     An’ snow-drifts cold an’ deep?

Bimeby the days will lengthen out,

     An’ snow will turn to rain;

The bluebird he will be about,

     An’ spring will come again.

Suppose the work is hard an’ drear

     The burden heavy, too?

Suppose all things seem out of gear

     An’ you are feelin’ blue?

Bimeby the crooked paths will straight,

     An' God will ease the strain;

Bimeby you’ll cease to rail at fate,

     An’ you will sing again!

Dec. 24, 1912