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;