Oh, what is this, which shines so bright,
And in the lonely place,
Hangs out its small green lamp at night,
The dewy bank to grace?
It is a glow-worm,—still and pale,
It shines the whole night long,
When only stars, oh, nightingale,
Seem list'ning to thy song.
And so, amid the world's cold night,
Thro' good report or ill,
Shines out the humble Christian's light,
As lonely and as still.