How Sweet ’Twill Be

How sweet ’twill be at ev­en­ing

When all our work is done

To view the roll­ing splen­dor

Of life’s des­cend­ing sun.

And think that in the morn­ing

Which soon shall greet our eyes

No storm clouds of af­flict­ion

Or sor­row e’er shall rise.

How sweet ’twill be in Zi­on

With no more to en­dure—

To know that all our tri­als

But served to make us pure.

Just as the gold and sil­ver

Their value to dis­play

Must first go through the fur­nace

To melt the dross away.

How sweet ’twill be in Heav­en

Where end­less morn ap­pears

To meet our friends and know them—

The lost of by­gone years.

And with them and the an­gels

Whose songs eter­nal rise

Sit at the mar­riage sup­per—

The ban­quet of the skies.