And in the morning, when the dew is sweet,
She hears the gentle music of His feet—
She hears Him speak and say, “I heard thy voice.”
The glorious One draws nigh;
Amidst the dew when all the woods rejoice
With gladsome melody.
And she arrays herself in fair attire,
In raiment of a bride;
Her mantle is the holy judgment fire
Wherein the gold is tried.