Breaking through the clouds that gather,

O’er the Christian’s natal skies,
Distant beams, like floods of glory,
Fill the soul with glad surprise;
And we almost hear the echo
Of the pure and holy throng,
In the bright, the bright forever,
In the summer land of song.

Yet a little while we linger,
Ere we reach our journey’s end;
Yet a little while of labor,
Ere the evening shades descend;
Then we’ll lay us down to slumber,
But the night will soon be o’er;
In the bright, the bright forever,
We shall wake, to weep no more.

O the bliss of life eternal!
O the long unbroken rest!
In the golden fields of pleasure,
In the region of the blessed;
But, to see our dear Redeemer,
And before His throne to fall,
There to bear His gracious welcome,
Will be sweeter far than all.

—Fanny Crosby