XXII.—A Morning Song.
My God, who makes the sun to know
his proper hour to rise,
And to give light to all below,
dost send him round the skies:
2When from the chambers of the east
his morning race begins,
He never tires, nor stops to rest,
but round the world he shines;
3So, like the sun, would I fulfil
the business of the day,
Begin my work betimes, and still
march on my heav'nly way.
4Give me, O Lord, thine early grace,
nor let my soul complain
That the young morning of my days
has all been spent in vain.