Page:The Christian Year 1887.djvu/17



Hues of the rich unfolding morn,
 * That, ere the glorious sun be born,

By some soft touch invisible
 * Around his path are taught to swell;—

Thou rustling breeze so fresh and gay,
 * That dancest forth at opening day,

And brushing by with joyous wing,
 * Wakenest each little leaf to sing;—

Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,
 * By which deep grove and tangled stream

Pay, for soft rains in season given,
 * Their tribute to the genial heaven;—

Why waste your treasures of delight
 * Upon our thankless, joyless sight;

Who day by day to sin awake,
 * Seldom of Heaven and you partake?

Oh, timely happy, timely wise,
 * Hearts that with rising morn arise!

Eyes that the beam celestial view,
 * Which evermore makes all things new!

New every morning is the love
 * Our wakening and uprising prove;

Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
 * Restored to life, and power, and thought.

New mercies, each returning day,
 * Hover around us while we pray;