IX Morn awakes, behold the glory
Morn awakes, behold the glory
From the hill-tops spread abroad,
Telling still the ancient story
Of the faithfulness of God.
Soul, bestir! the path before thee
Leads toward the realm of night;
Heed the voices that implore thee,—
Walk, the while ye have the light.
Haste! the daylight may forsake thee
Ere thou reach thy journey's goal;
Lest the solemn night o'ertake thee,
Up! the shining hours control.
Do the task that waits thy doing;
Let the will of God be thine;
Ever what is right pursuing,
Till the day to night decline.
Christ, Thou Sun that knows no setting,
In my soul in beauty shine;
Then, the dread of night forgetting,
I shall live in light divine.