After sun-rising, for day sullies flowers.
Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut,
And Heaven’s gate opens when the world’s is shut.
Walk with thy fellow-creatures; note the hush
And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring
Or leaf but hath his morning hymn; each bush
And oak doth know I Am—canst thou not sing?
O leave thy cares and follies! Go this way,
And thou art sure to prosper all the day.
Mornings are mysteries: the first world’s youth,