Sometimes a light sur­pris­es
The Chris­tian while he sings;
It is the Lord, who rises
With healing in His wings:
When comforts are de­clin­ing,
He grants the soul again
A season of clear shin­ing,
To cheer it after rain.

In holy con­tem­pla­tion
We sweetly then pur­sue
The theme of God’s sal­va­tion,
And find it ever new.
Set free from present sor­row,
We cheerfully can say,
Let the unknown to­mor­row
Bring with it what it may.

It can bring with it no­thing
But He will bear us through;
Who gives the lil­ies cloth­ing
Will clothe His peo­ple, too;
Beneath the spread­ing hea­vens,
No creature but is fed;
And He who feeds the rav­ens
Will give His child­ren bread.

Though vine nor fig tree nei­ther
Their wonted fruit should bear,
Though all the field should wi­ther,
Nor flocks nor herds be there;
Yet God the same abid­ing,
His praise shall tune my voice,
For while in Him con­fid­ing,
I cannot but re­joice.