All the world lay still and silent in the morning grey,

And at once a thousand voices hail the glorious day;

For the great Sun glowing crimson rises o’er the sea—

“Welcome, Day!” they sing together, “Day that is to be!”

Oh how glad and sweet and joyous is that morning hymn!

Whilst the golden day is stealing through the valleys dim—

Thrush and blackbird, lark and linnet, doves that coo and hum

Wild delight, and soft rejoicing, for the day is come.

Not a thought of care or wonder what the day will bring.

For the Father careth for them in the smallest thing.

There upon the pathless mountains is their table spread,

All by God are known and numbered, by His Hands are fed.

Some in deep and tangled forests where the berries glow,

Some where children’s crumbs are scattered on the garden snow,

Some where through the river sedges mayflies glance and play,

Some where mountain tarns lie gleaming in the hollows grey.

For the wild and hungry eagle, for the wren so small,

All is ready—food and gladness, free to each and all.

“Ye are of more value than many sparrows.”