  O, brother, don't you worry, When the sorrow brings the night! It is never long till morning, And 'twill all come right. Do the loads seem hard and heavy As you bear them with your might? Love will lift the bending burdens, And 'twill all come right! Do you feel the hate and malice Of the foolish ones that fight? They will find your heart is worthy, And 'twill all come right! Do your duty to the utmost! Then the foes shall vanish quite; Let the world howl on with censure,— It will all come right! God awaits us over yonder, Where his lilies blossom white; In his love the griefs shall perish, And 'twill all come right! The happy days when the mistletoe makes raptures for young hearts and loving lips will soon come 'round again. Heaven grant us all to be young and confiding enough for all the love and joy and the glad music of the Christmas times! |
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