Each eve earth falleth down the dark,
As though its hope were o-er;
Yet lurks the sun when day is done
Behind to-morrow-s door.

Grey grows the dawn while men-folk sleep,
Unseen spreads on the light,
Till the thrush sings to the coloured things,
And earth forgets the night.

No otherwise wends on our Hope:
E-en as a tale that-s told
Are fair lives lost, and all the cost
Of wise and true and bold.

We-ve toiled and failed; we spake the word;
None hearkened; dumb we lie;
Our Hope is dead, the seed we spread
Fell o-er the earth to die.

What-s this? For joy our hearts stand still,
And life is loved and dear,
The lost and found the Cause hath crowned,
The Day of Days is here.