It may be when the dawn­ing
Shall drive the mist away,
And the world is robed in beau­ty
By the gold­en light of day,
Or in the sun­set splen­dor
When the West is rose and gold,
And the marts of trade are si­lenced
Where the goods are bought and sold.

It may be at the noon­time
When the busy traf­fic fares
And the work­ing heart and will­ing
In the life of labor shares,
When the eyes of faith are lifted,
And the voice of doubt is dumb,
That Son of God in glory
Down the rifted sky will come.

It may be when the weary
Heart is wondering at delay,
And the stormy clouds are sweeping
O’er the patient pilgrim’s way,
That the heart of hope shall, listening,
Hear the music in the air,
And the lifted eyes shall see the Lord
With all His angels there.

O soul of mine, the time is short,
So let thy lamp be burning,
And gird thee for the call of Christ:
The Bridegroom is returning;
His waiting church shall meet Him
And in His glory share,
Caught up into the rapture
That is waiting for us there.

W. Lomax Childress
Mountain Laur­el and Oth­er Po­ems, 1924