WHEN I WAKE UP IN THE MORNING
When I wake up in the mornin’, in the laughin’, smilin’ mornin’,
With my soul keyed like a fiddle an’ my heart keyed like a lute,
An’ memory-maids come trippin’, an’ a-slidin’ an’ a-slippin’,
An’ floodin’ all my heart house with the faint notes of their flute—
Then my lips jus’ longs to utter little songs that kind o’ flutter
’Round the earthly cage that coops them, an’ would fly up in the light,
An’ to my soul a-yearnin’, little firefly thoughts come burnin’
An’ bringin’ spirit-lanterns that would lead it out of night—
When I wake up in the mornin’.
When I wake up in the mornin’, in that solemn, silent mornin’,
After long, long years of slumber, an’ long, long years of sleep,
When my spirit’s bird has rested in the heavenly air it breasted
An’ its golden pinions tested for their flight across the Deep—
Lord, I know my soul will flutter up to heaven, an’ will utter
In a clearer note the songs it only tried to sing below;
An’ these fitful, fiery flashes from the pale hope of my ashes
Will be altars of star incense in the glory of Thy glow—
When I wake up in the mornin’.
John Trotwood Moore.