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Paul Laurence Dunbar - With The Lark
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Night is for sorrow and dawn is for joy,
  Chasing the troubles that fret and annoy;
  Darkness for sighing and daylight for song,--
  Cheery and chaste the strain, heartfelt and strong.
  All the night through, though I moan in the dark,
  I wake in the morning to sing with the lark.

  Deep in the midnight the rain whips the leaves,
  Softly and sadly the wood-spirit grieves.
  But when the first hue of dawn tints the sky,
  I shall shake out my wings like the birds and be dry;
  And though, like the rain-drops, I grieved through the dark,
  I shall wake in the morning to sing with the lark.

  On the high hills of heaven, some morning to be,
  Where the rain shall not grieve thro` the leaves of the tree,
  There my heart will be glad for the pain I have known,
  For my hand will be clasped in the hand of mine own;
  And though life has been hard and death`s pathway been dark,
  I shall wake in the morning to sing with the lark.
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