The Marietta Journal

CLOUDS WITH SILVER LININGS
BY MARY B. COLBY.

There's never a day so sunny,
But a little cloud appears;
There's never a life so happy
But has had its time of tears;
Yet the sun shines out the brighter
When the stormy tempest clears.

There's never a garden growing
With roses in every plot,
There's never a heart so hardened
But it has one tender spot;
We have only to prune the border
To find the forget me-not.

There's never a cup so pleasant
But has bitter with the sweet ;
There's never a path so rugged
That bears not the print of feet:
And we have a Helper promised
For the trials we may meet.

There's never sun that rises
But we know 'twill set at night;
The tints that gleam in the morning.
At evening are just as bright;
And the hour that is the sweetest
Is between the dark and light.

There's never a dream that's happy
But the waking makes us sad;
There's never a dream of sorrow
But the waking makes us glad;
We shall look some day with wonder
At the troubles we have had.

There's never a way so narrow
But the entrance is made straight;
There is always a guide to point us
To the "little wicket-gate;"
And the angels will be nearer
To a soul that is desolate.

There's never a heart so haughty
But will some day bow and kneel ;
There's never a heart so wounded
That the Saviour can not heal;
There is many a lowly forehead
That is bearing the hidden seal.

There's never a day so sunny
But a little clouds appears;
There's never a life so happy
But has had it time of tears;
Yet the sun shines out the brighter
When the stormy tempest clears.