Come, my soul, awake, 't is morning,

Day is dawning

O'er the earth, arise and pray;

Come, to Hime who made this splendour

Thou must render

All thy feeble pow'rs can pay.

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.

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.

Pray that when thy life is closing,

Calm reposing

Thou mayst die, and not in pain;

That, the night of death departed,

Thou, glad-bearted,

Mayst behold the Sun again.