You say that purest white is never painted
But only seen in contrast to the stroke,
That earthly beauty true is beauty tainted
And Heaven-minded art a Hell-born joke.

You say all truth is beauty, fair or frightful,
And truth is darkness mingled with the light,
The dreadful always marring the delightful,
A dash of wrong for every dish of right.

You say it is a mercy to be candid,
To paint the world a dark and loathesome place,
To discourse on the darkness you are handed,
That Heaven's light may seem a sweeter grace.

But if I love your soul, I must remind you
That someday you will live without your crutch
When earthly darkness all is put behind you,
For Heaven is beyond the Devil's touch.

Dark histories will never be repeated
Once laid before the judgment seat of God;
And though the saints will sing of sin defeated,
We never will rehearse the paths we trod.

The singing there will glorify the Master,
The Lamb who for our rebel lives was slain,
In one dark hour destroying death's disaster,
Forever as our Light to live again.

And never will there be a recitation
Of falsehoods that were once considered truth,
For darkness will be proved an aberration,
Regarded as perverted and uncouth.

And how then will you recognize your glory
Without the stroke of Hell so thick and stark?
How will you tell the good without the gory
Or know the light for light without the dark?

At judgment you will mourn for minutes wasted
In morbid contemplation of the wrong
And earthly joys you never truly tasted
Because you could not trust a cheerful song.