Bliss, to which sluggards ne’er were born,
Waits the attendant of the morn.
Maria Colling.
The morning breaks,
And earth in her Maker’s smile awakes;
His light is on all, below and above,
The light of gladness, and life, and love.
O, then, on the breath of this early air,
Send up the incense of grateful prayer!
Henry Ware, Jun.