HYMN NO. 591

1 Every morning the red sun
Rises warm and bright;
But the evening cometh on,
And the dark, cold night:
There’s a bright land far away
Where ‘tis never ending day.

2 Every sprint the sweet young flowers
Open fresh and gay,
Till the chilly autumn hours
Wither them away!
There’s a land we have not seen,
Where the trees are always green.

3 Little birds sing songs of praise
All the summer long.
But in colder, shorter days
They forget their song:
There’s a place where angels sing
Ceaseless praises to their King.

4 Christ our Lord is ever near
Those who follow Him!
But we cannot see Him here,
For our eyes are dim:
There is a most happy place,
Where we’ll always see His face.

5 Who shall go to that fair land?
All who love the right:
Holy children there shall stand,
In their robes of white;
In that heaven so bright and blest,
Is our everlasting rest.