Joy Cometh in the Morning
by Helen Welshimer
This too will pass; believe it, O my heart!
There will be sunlight on some distant hill;
storms cannot last forever; joy will start
and troubled waters someday will grow still.
Hurt is a transient; when it serves its need
it vanishes; relief must follow pain.
Oh, always when the flood goes, tides recede!
No sorrow ever is endured in vain.