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8

VIII

8,8,8,8

Now glows the morn in beauty rare;

Oh haste, my soul, to fervent prayer,

And let the wings of morning raise

To God the tribute of thy praise.

The night is gone, now disappear

The clouds that hung in threatening near;

Day comes apace, and terrors flee,

And light illumes the land and sea.

O soul dismayed! when darkness fills

The dismal days with darkling ills,

Rest in the calm the promise gives,

That Christ, thy Light and Glory, lives.

Morn shall appear and scatter night;

Light shall appear in noonday might.

Strong in the joy the daylight brings,

Soul, thou shalt rise on glowing wings.

Morn of my soul, O Christ, Thou art;

Light of my life; my drooping heart

Sings, when Thy countenance benign

Shines as the joys of noonday shine.

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