Sunset is for sorrow and Sunrise is for joy,
Chasing the troubles that fret and annoy;
Darkness for sighing and daylight for song,
Cheer and chaste the strain, heartfelt and strong.
All the night through, though I moan in the dark,
I wake in the morning to sing out a song.
Deep in the midnight the rain whips the leaves,
Softly and sadly the wood-spirit grieves.
But when the first color of dawn paints the sky,
I shall shake out my eyes wiping them to dry
And though, like the rain-drops, I grieved through the dark,
I shall wake in the morning to sing out a song.
On the high hills of heaven, some morning to be,
Where the rain shall not grieve through the leaves of the tree,
There my heart will be glad for the pain I have known,
For my hand will be clasped in my own hands,
And though life has been hard and death's pathway been dark,
I shall wake in the morning to sing out a song.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem