John Brownlie (trans.) · 10 of 130

IX: Morn awakes, behold the glory

Morn awakes, behold the glory From the hill-tops spread abroad, Telling still the ancient story Of the faithfulness of God.

Soul, bestir! the path before thee Leads toward the realm of night; Heed the voices that implore thee,-- Walk, the while ye have the light.

Haste! the daylight may forsake thee Ere thou reach thy journey's goal; Lest the solemn night o'ertake thee, Up! the shining hours control.

Do the task that waits thy doing; Let the will of God be thine; Ever what is right pursuing, Till the day to night decline.

Christ, Thou Sun that knows no setting, In my soul in beauty shine; Then, the dread of night forgetting, I shall live in light divine.