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8

John Brownlie

8,8,8,8

Up, up, my soul! with gladness rise,

And greet the ever-brightening skies.

The morn hath come, sweet morn, awake!

And from thy pinions slumber shake.

Pure as the morn God's presence shines;

Love like its beams, thy life entwines;

Richer the gifts thy God bestows

Than morning beauty can disclose.

Sweet as the breath that fans the bowers,

And stirs the leaves and opening flowers,

Comes with the morn, the breath Divine

To stir thee, slumbering soul of mine.

9

O Thou, the Morn, the Light, the Sun,

With Thee be every day begun;

Brightness shall clothe my life always,

And fill my soul with grateful praise.

Glory to Thee, O Christ my Lord!

Light of my soul, Incarnate Word!

Come with the morn, abide alway,

And cheer my course to endless day.

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