The sun hangs low in the southern sky, a faint, refracted, pale reprise;
A flickering portent of heaven’s reply: “The Sun of Righteousness will rise.”
The winter’s night is bleak and dead with lingering, anxious darkness blind;
But morning comes with One who said: “My life is light for all mankind.”
Relentless chill pervades, suffuses, as this world’s love grown cold with strife;
But the brittle, grave-like cold now loses deathly force: “In him was life.”
This day’s distance from comfort, light foretells: “No need of sun or moon;”
His presence, warmth, light, healing, right, announces: “He is coming soon.”
