Were there no night, we could not read the stars,
The heavens would turn into a blinding glare;
Freedom is best seen through prison bars,
And rough seas make the haven passing fair;
We cannot measure joys but by their loss;
When blessings fade away, we see them then;
Our richest clusters grow around the cross,
And in the night-time angels sing to men.
The heavens would turn into a blinding glare;
Freedom is best seen through prison bars,
And rough seas make the haven passing fair;
We cannot measure joys but by their loss;
When blessings fade away, we see them then;
Our richest clusters grow around the cross,
And in the night-time angels sing to men.
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