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| Text: | A Morning Song |
1 Once more my Soul, the rising Day
Salutes thy waking Eyes;
Once more, my Voice, thy Tribute pay
To him that Rules the Skies.
2 Night unto Night his Name repeats,
The Day renews the Sound,
Wide as the Heav'n on which he sits
To turn the Seasons round.
3 'Tis he supports my Mortal Frame,
My Tongue shall speak his Praise;
My Sins would rouze his Wrath to Flame,
And yet his Wrath delays.
4 [On a poor Worm thy Pow'r might tread,
And I could ne'er withstand;
Thy Justice might have crush'd me dead,
But Mercy held thine Hand.
5 A Thousand wretched Souls are fled
Since the last setting Sun,
And yet thou length'nest out my Thread,
And yet my Moments run.]
6 Dear God, let all my Hours be thine,
Whilst I enjoy thy Light,
Then shall my Sun in Smiles decline,
And bring a pleasing Night.
| Text Information | |
|---|---|
| First Line: | Once more my Soul, the rising Day |
| Title: | A Morning Song |
| Language: | English |
| Publication Date: | 1791 |
| Topic: | liturgical: Opening Hymns; Morning Hymns |
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