God of the Morning, at Whose Voice

God of the morn­ing

at whose voice

The cheer­ful sun makes haste to rise

And like a gi­ant doth re­joice

To run his jour­ney through the skies.

From the fair cham­bers of the east

The cir­cuit of his race be­gins

And

with­out wea­ri­ness or rest

Round the whole earth he flies and shines.

O like the sun may I ful­fill

Th’appointed du­ties of the day

With rea­dy mind and ac­tive will

March on and keep my heav’n­ly way.

But I shall rove and lose the race

If God

my sun

should dis­ap­pear

And leave me in this world’s wild maze

To fol­low ev­ery wan­d’ring star.

Lord

Thy com­mands are clean and pure

Enlightening our be­cloud­ed eyes;

Thy threat­en­ings just

Thy pro­mise sure

Thy Gos­pel makes the sim­ple wise.

Give me Thy coun­sel for my guide

And then re­ceive me to Thy bliss;

All my de­sires and hopes be­side

Are faint and cold com­pared with this.