O God of light, when morn awakes,
And tipped with gold the hills appear,
My voice, attuned, the silence breaks
With heart-borne praise, for Thou art near,
When clouds like curtains drape the sky,
And threatening fills my soul with fear;
As from the rifts the arrows fly
My praise ascends, for Thou art near.
Yea, when the night all unrelieved,
In ebon blackness rules the sphere,
Up, then, my soul! all undeceived
Thy praises tell, for God is near.
O God of Light, in weal or woe,
By clay and night, in hope and fear,
From heart attuned my song shall flow
In praise of Thee, for Thou art near.
|Instances (1 - 1 of 1)||Title||First Line||Tune||Tune Key||Author||Meter||Scripture||Date||Subject||Source|
|Hymns of the Russian Church: being translations, centos, and suggestions from the Greek office books with an introduction #78||O God of light, when morn awakes||O God of light, when morn awakes||John Brownlie||8,8,8,8||1920|