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John Brownlie


The morn awakes; from eastern hills

The golden light creation fills;

And arrows chase the night that flies

Before the ever-brightening skies.

The morn awakes; up, soul of mine!

And, like the morn, in beauty shine;

Strong, as the high-ascending sun,

Thy race of duty boldly run.

Night for the weary comes at length;

Morn gives the soul the needed strength;

Light shall thy path encircling, cheer,

And melt each lingering cloud of fear.

O Light of lights, when night descends,

And brooding fear my life attends,

Show to my soul, that night departs

When morning trims her glowing darts.


O Christ, who art my better Sun,

Bright shines the day with Thee begun;

No terror can the mind oppress,

Nor cloud th' aspiring soul distress.

To Thee, O glorious Light of light,

Be honour paid when morn is bright;

To Father, and to Spirit blest,

Be glory every day exprest.

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