| The darkness now is lifting
|
| Dawn blushes in the sky
|
| It lays a spread of gold and red
|
| And breathes a lullaby
|
| To a thousand quiet creatures
|
| Of earth and sky and stream
|
| Who cannot know that paradise
|
| Will one day be a dream
|
| When the last wagon rolls along
|
| And fades into the west
|
| And cuts a trail of progress
|
| Through a singing skylark’s nest
|
| When the last woodland creature
|
| Lifts her head to flee
|
| And is snared by her protector
|
| Lord, who will set her free?
|
| When the boundless spirit
|
| Has no place to roam
|
| The heart will sadly whisper
|
| This world is not my home
|
| When the sweep of wind along the grass
|
| Bows down to destiny
|
| When the last bright star has fallen
|
| Lord, who will comfort me?
|
| When the last prairie flower
|
| Gives up her yellow bloom
|
| When the high cathedral skies
|
| Give way to crowded rooms
|
| When we parcel heaven
|
| And fence eternity
|
| When the wildness is all tamed and torn
|
| Don’t let me live to see
|
| When the last campfire flickers
|
| And is laid to righteous rest
|
| When the ones who wander without fear
|
| Are cursed who once were blessed
|
| When all our deeds of glory
|
| Are laid in front of thee
|
| When you ask what man hath wrought
|
| Don’t rest your gaze on me
|
| When the boundless spirit
|
| Has no place to roam
|
| The heart will sadly whisper
|
| This world is not my home
|
| When the sweep of wind along the grass
|
| Bows down to destiny
|
| When the last bright star has fallen
|
| Lord, who will comfort me? |