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IX

8,7,8,7

Morn awakes, behold the glory

From the hill-tops spread abroad,

Telling still the ancient story

Of the faithfulness of God.

9

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.

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