I looked down when the Sun had fled,
a weight of worry on my head,
the heat of day so quickly gone
and now my heart all woebegone.
When Sun's out bright and in the light,
I feel no fear nor faint nor fright,
but when He's dark and cold, I tire,
and build me up a feeble fire.
It never gets so warm or bright,
my fire, compared to heaven's light.
"But what am I to do," I say,
"when heaven's warmth is gone away?"
"Look forward," says a stable voice,
"make hope thy fire, and faith thy choice.
Choose love for Mine, and see: Sun-rays
they rise already off aways."
"Thine eyes have seen so oft before
the Sun come round and break the shore.
Canst thou not wait a moment hence
for warmth to break through night's events?"
"Make not a mortal fire, child,
be not by ghosts and fears beguiled.
Trust that soon the Sun will rise,
to warm thy heart and mend thine eyes."
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