Come, my soul, awake, 'tis morning,

Day is dawning

O'er the earth, arise and pray;

Come, to Him who made this splendour,

Thou must render

All thy feeble powers can pay.

From the stars now learn thy duty,

See their beauty

Paling in the golden air;

So God's light thy mists should banish,

Thus should vanish

What to darkened sense seemed fair.

See how everything that liveth,

Gladly striveth

On the pleasand light to gaze;

Stirs with joy each thing that groweth,

As it knoweth

Darkness smitten by these rays.

Soul, thy incense also proffer;

Thou shouldst offer

Praise to Him, who from thy head

Kept afar the storms of sorrow,

And the morrow

Finds the night in peace hath fled.

Bid Him bless what thou art doing,

If pursuing

Some good aim; but if there lurks

Ill intent in thine endeavour,

May He ever

Thwart and turn thee from Thy works.

Think that he, the All-discerning,

Knows each turning

Of thy path, each sinful stain;

Nay what shame would fain gloss over,

Can discover;

All thou dost to Him is plain.

Bound unto the flying hours

Are our powers;

Earth's vain good floats down their wave,

That thy ship, my soul, is hasting,

Never resting,

To its haven in the grave.

Pray that when thy life is closing,

Calm reposing,

Thou mayst die, and not in pain;

That, the night of death departed,

Thou glad-hearted,

Mayst behold the Sun again.

From God's glances shrink thou never,

Meet them ever;

Who submits him to His grace,

Finds that earth no sunshine knoweth

Such as gloweth

O'er his pathway all his days.

Wakenest thou again to sorrow,

Oh! then borrow

Strength from Him, whose sun-like might

On the mountain-summit tarries,

And yet carries

To the vales their mirth and light.

Round the gifts He on thee showers,

Fiery towers

Will he set, be not afraid,

Thou shalt dwell 'mid angel legions,

In the regions

Satan's self dares not invade.