Ho! watchman, standing on thy tower,
As years sweep onward in their flight,
What signs in heaven attract thy sight,
Predictive of the coming hour,
When earth shall see the reign of right?
What of the night? What of the night?
And pointing to the dim, gray light
Just struggling up the eastern sky,
A promise and a prophecy
That day shall chase the dark that gloometh
O'er heaven to hide it from our eye.
The watchman saith, "The morning cometh!"
And angels sing, "The morning cometh!"
And earth repeats, "The morning cometh!"
And "God be thanked!" our hearts reply.
—Selected.