With silent awe I hail the sacred morn,
Which slowly wakes while all the fields are still;
A soothing calm on every breeze is borne,
A graver murmur gurgles from the rill,
An echo answers softer from the hill,
And softer sings the linnet from the thorn,
The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill:
Hail, light serene! Hail, sacred Sabbath morn!
The rooks float by in silent, airy drove;
The sun a placid yellow lustre shows;