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.