tr., John Brownlie
The morn awakes; from eastern hills
The golden light creation fills;
And arrows chase the night that flies
Before the ever-brightening skies.
The morn awakes; up, soul of mine,
And, like the morn, in beauty shine;
Strong, as the high-ascending sun,
Thy race of duty boldly run.
Night for the weary comes at length;
Morn gives the soul the needed strength;
Light shall thy path encircling, cheer,
And melt each lingering cloud of fear.
O Light of lights, when night descends,
And brooding fear my life attends,
Shew to my soul, that night departs
When morning trims her glowing darts.
O Christ, Who art my Better Sun,
Bright shines the day with Thee begun;
No terror can the mind oppress,
Nor cloud th' aspiring soul distress.
To Thee, O glorious Light of light,
Be honour paid when morn is bright;
To Father, and to Spirit blest,
Be glory every day exprest.