I
From the hills the light is streaming,
Hail, the gladsome morn!
Earth with busy life is teeming,
For the day is born.
II
Dawn, Thou Light of lights, undying
On a fairer day,
All creation beautifying
With Thy glorious ray.
III
Weary eyes the hills are scanning
For the early gleam;
Souls, Thy long delay unmanning,
Sleep, and idly dream.
IV
Ah, my soul, be up and doing,
Life will soon be done,
Night, the day is close pursuing
To the setting sun.
V
And the day of God shall waken
To the soul with fear,
If, the call of life forsaken,
We are slumbering here.
VI
From the hills the light is streaming,
Hail the gladsome morn!
And the light of God is beaming,—
This, His day, is born.
Hymns from the Morningland, 1911