THE COMING YEAR

THE COMING YEAR

1914

Your shattered hopes may grieve you,
But don’t unduly fret,
Your sorest disappointments
Will grow sweet flowers yet.

The bud that’s crushed will blossom,
The fading flower bloom,
The falling tear will vanish,
Sweet joy will take its room.

The darkened sky will brighten,
The morning star appear
Thy weary path to brighten,
Thy lonely heart to cheer.

The best wine lies before you,
From graphs both fresh and new,
It’s of His dear own making,
He has reserved for you.

My soul the morning breaketh,
New glories doth appear,
The sleeping herb awaketh
To meet the coming year.

His hand of love has guided
Through all our doubts and fears,
And still He’s here beside us
To meet the sweet New Year.

M. McMaster, Killyless, Cullybackey January 1914

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